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THE GRAFTONS 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


THE HOUSE OF MERRILEES 

RICHARD BALDOCK 

EXTON MANOR 

THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER 

THE ELDEST SON 

THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS 

THE GREATEST OF THESE 

THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH 

WATERMEADS 

UPSIDONIA 

ABINGTON ABBEY 

THE GRAFTONS 

THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS 

SIR HARRY 


THE GRAFTONS 


A NOVEL 


BY 

ARCHIBALD MARSHALL 

n 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1919 



Copyright, 1918, by 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, InO. 


•I'TS —b\ '© 


£ 


TO 

WILLIAM HENRY BATES 


















\ 





/ 


I 










I 


V 










CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PACE 

I Surley Rectory 1 

II A Question of Patronage ... 13 

III In the Garden 27 

IV A Presentation 45 

V The System 63 

VI The Vicar’s Decision .... 80 

VII A Morning Ride 93 

VIII The Bishop Finds a Man . . . 107 

IX The New Vicar 121 

X Young George Takes Advice . . 136 

XI The Second Love .... 151 

XII Caroline and Beatrix .... 164 

XIII Paris 178 

XIV A Wedding 192 

XV An Accident 207 

XVI Maurice . . . . . .218 

XVII How They Took It . . . . 235 

XVIII More Opinions 246 

XIX After the Wedding .... 261 

XX Caroline’s Home-coming . . . 277 

XXI A Visit . . . .... 291 

XXII The Family View 307 

XXIII An Engagement 318 

XXIV Barbara 327 





INTRODUCTION 


This novel, though it is complete in itself, deals with 
the same characters as “ Abington Abbey.” Its pub- 
lication gives me the opportunity of replying to some 
criticisms of that novel, which would apply equally to 
this one. 

The criticisms to which I refer have to do, not with 
faults of authorship, to which it would not be becom- 
ing to reply, but with matters for which an apology, or 
at least an explanation, may be offered. 

The first has been that in such times as these a novel 
dealing with minor currents of life as they existed be- 
fore the war is something of an anachronism. Perhaps 
it is. In the fourth year of the war, life as it is depicted 
in these two novels seems already far away. But what 
is a novelist of manners to do, granted the assumption— 
admittedly debateable — that he is to go on writing 
novels at all? He must either write about the war, in 
one or other of its far-reaching effects upon life, or else 
he must leave it alone altogether. At least, those are 
the only alternatives that I have felt to be open to me ; 
and, after having written one novel with the war as its 
deliberate climax, I have chosen the latter. When the 
war is over, it will be possible to take its adjustments 
into account as affecting everyday life, but while it is 
going on I do not think it is possible. It looms too big. 
Minor affairs would have their values in contrast with 
it, and truth would suffer. 

If further justification were necessary, I think I 
could find it in the relief it brings from the heavy 
ix 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


weight of the war to turn one’s mind to those happy 
days in which life presented problems of less appalling 
significance than now, and to gain the comforting as- 
surance that those days will come again. This relief I 
know to be felt by readers as well as by writers of 
fiction. 

The second criticism upon which I should like to 
have my say is that the life I have depicted in those 
of my novels whose scenes are laid in the English coun- 
try has been for some time a thing of the past, and 
after the war may be expected to disappear altogether. 
My American critics, kind as most of them are, often 
seem to accuse me of presenting an idyllic picture of a 
state of things which is based upon rotten foundations, 
and either of leaving out of account or of deliberately 
shutting my eyes to the rottenness. 

I should hot accept either charge. If it were worth 
anybody’s while to read through those novels of mine 
in which the economic conditions of English landhold- 
ing are touched upon, I think he would find in the 
first place that I have nowhere defended whatever abuses 
may still attach to the system, but have frequently 
satirised them; and in the second place that economic 
questions play but a small part in my fictions. 

I think that if I had left such questions alone alto- 
gether there would be no criticism to meet. I could 
point to a dozen novelists who write about the same 
sort of people, living in the same surroundings, as I do, 
against whom it would not be brought, because they 
take the conditions for granted, and their readers take 
them for granted. If I touch upon such questions here 
and there it is because they interest me as factors in 
the lives of my characters ; but they are not the factors 
which I have chosen as the main thesis of my novels, 
except in one instance. In “ The Old Order Changeth ” 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


I did seek to reflect the renewal that is always going on 
in English landowning, and always has gone on since 
the beginning, — where the new men come in to dispos- 
sess the old ; and the social disturbance that takes place 
at each such upheaval, before the new become absorbed 
in their turn into the old. 

That is how I see it. Whatever changes may have 
come and may be coming in the economic conditions of 
landholding, and of agricultural labour, the life of the 
country house, large or small, goes on much the same as 
ever, and will go on. Where it can no longer be sup- 
ported by the land, it is supported by money made else- 
where. English people like the flavour of country life, 
and it is very seldom that a man who has made his for- 
tune in business does not eventually buy or rent a coun- 
try house. Many of the big estates in the United 
Kingdom have been acquired of late years by rich 
Americans, who buy them, I suppose, not as an invest- 
ment in property, but because they also are attracted 
by the flavour of English country life. Country houses, 
from the great house such as is represented here by 
Abington Abbey down to the little house such as Stone 
Cottage, are scattered all over England, and I should 
say that in nine cases out of ten, taking large and small 
together, the people who inhabit them have no concern 
with the land, in the way of drawing any part of their 
income from it, or of dealing with it as a productive 
agency. They have not come “ back to the land ” in 
any essential sense; they have only come back to the 
country. I believe that no economic changes that may 
affect those who live by the land, whether as employers 
or labourers, will much affect the social life of English 
country houses. 

As far as my novels are concerned, it is simply a 
question of placing the sort of people whom I know 


INTRODUCTION 


xii 

best in the surroundings of which I like to write. 
Where my characters are in direct contact with the 
business of the land, or are affected by it, I do not 
shirk reference to it, as far as it seems to bear upon 
the main purpose of my story. But I have not set out 
to present an all-round picture of the conditions of 
country life in any of the fictional districts I have 
chosen as the scene of my novels. The great majority 
of the inhabitants of any countryside are the people 
who work on the land and live by it, and these I have 
left out almost entirely ; not because I do not recognise 
their actual importance, but because in the social scene 
of my stories they would not appear, or only in a very 
minor degree. It may be an unsatisfactory state of 
things which divides people off in that way, into social 
strata, but it undoubtedly exists, and it is not the busi- 
ness of a novelist to justify the conditions he finds, but 
to reflect them ; unless, of course, he sets out to make a 
discussion of those conditions the basis of his story. 

As for my family of Graftons, who are real and dear 
to me, I have pictured them in the sunny days of peace. 
But in my vision, at least, the shadow of the war lies 
over them, as it does in retrospect over all immediately 
pre-war fictional characters. Dick Mansergh and 
Maurice Bradby would have been fighting since the 
beginning; Young George and his friend Jimmy would 
have been caught up in it by this time. In the slaugh- 
ter of bright youth that is going on, it would hardly be 
expected that not one out of the four would be killed 
or wounded. George Grafton would be “ doing some- 
thing,” with the men of his generation, and would 
hardly be able to regard life now as going so easily 
for him as to make of it a spiritual danger. The girls 
must have known sorrow and a much changed outlook, 
unless they have been more fortunate than most. 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 

Yes, these are stories of the past, as much as if 
they had been written about people living forty or fifty 
years ago instead of four or five. But the shadow will 
pass away, and life will emerge again into the sunshine. 
I have looked forward, in writing them, as much as I 
have looked back. 

Archibald Marshall. 

March , 1918. 


CHAPTER I 


SURLEY RECTORY 

The old man lay dying at last. He had lingered on 
for months, now getting a little better and giving hope 
that the end might be deferred for a time, now sinking, 
so that it seemed as if it had come; but with all the 
alterations in his state moving onwards slowly and 
surely towards his rest. Now there was no longer 
any hope, even for a few days more. His two daugh- 
ters and his son sat by his bedside, waiting. There was 
nothing to do but to wait, and to think. 

It was towards the close of a sunny April day. The 
windows of the large eastward-facing room were wide 
open to admit the fragrant air. The birds were making 
a great to do in the Rectory garden, where the flowers 
of early spring flaunted their bright colours, and the 
lawns answered them with living verdure. Nearly every 
morning for five and forty years the old man who was 
dying had arisen from the bed on which he lay to look 
out on this scene. It might almost be said to have been 
what he had lived for. At the age of thirty-four, still 
a young man, with a wife still younger, and his two 
little girls, he had come to this assured haven, with no 
thought of leaving it until he had lived his life out 
to the full, where there was everything to make life 
what he wished it to be. 


1 


2 


THE GRAFTONS 


There was the pleasant roomy house, so admirably 
adapted to the delights of a quiet home life, the beau- 
tiful garden, the glebe and the outbuildings and the two 
or three cottages which added what was almost a little 
farm to what was almost a country mansion. And 
there was the substantial income, which would provide 
for the pleasures and hospitalities as well as the respon- 
sibilities of country life. 

There was a little queer eighteenth century church, 
hardly more than a meeting-house, but big enough to 
hold such proportion of the three hundred or so in- 
habitants of the parish of Surley as would make a 
practice of attending it. It was to serve them that the 
Reverend William Cooper had been appointed to the 
living by the Bishop of the Diocese, and the house and 
the garden and the glebe and the substantial income 
were to be the reward of his service. None of the par- 
ishioners were very poor; the income would not be 
greatly depleted by the calls of charity. Nor would the 
time of their ministrant be too much occupied by them, 
supposing him to have other uses to which to put it. 

He had done his work and taken his reward. There 
had never been any question in his mind that the one was 
not fitted to the other, nor any sense of diffidence be- 
fore others who were spending themselves in the vine- 
yard with material reward barely existent. It had been 
rather the other way about. The Rector of Surley was 
almost a dignitary, by reason of the reward, and carried 
himself so before his lesser brethren, but not with arro- 
gance, for he was an amiable likeable man, and only 


SURLEY RECTORY 3 

living up to his position. These things were so; it 
was not even necessary to excuse them, at least in 
those days. 

An amiable likeable man ! He had gone about his 
parish for five and forty years, until there were only 
two or three in it who were older than he. Most 
of them now living he had christened into the Church, 
many he had buried, some he had married, a few he 
had helped, as one helps friends, not as one gives 
doles to the poor. He had touched the lives of all 
of them, and they had been satisfied with him. It 
was not for them to complain of the established or- 
der. These things came from above. If the Rector 
of Surley lived in a big house, with a thousand a year, 
the Squire lived in a bigger one, with ten thousand a 
year. The one was no more explicable than the other, 
and no more or less to be criticised. What might come 
from either to ameliorate the lot of the less fortunate 
would depend upon what sort of Squire or Rector 
there might be. 

Lying in his bed, as he had lain for months past, or 
when his strength had rallied sitting wrapped up in 
a big chair by the window, the old man must some- 
times have occupied himself in casting up his ac- 
counts preparatory to the great Audit to which he 
would soon have to submit them. 

His life had been kindly and useful. He had never 
turned a deaf ear to the call of sympathy, nor shirked 
any of his easy duties, as easy duties are sometimes 
apt to be shirked when no punishment is to be expected 


THE GRAFTONS 


from the shirking except from the disapproval of 
conscience. Probably he had given more thought to 
the episodes of his long life as they affected him- 
self and his family than to the affairs of his min- 
istry. 

His wife had managed him until she had died, and 
then his daughters had managed him. In neither case! 
had the managing been done in such a way as to irri- 
tate, or to lessen his dignity before the world. Per- 
haps he had hardly known that he had been managed , \ 
for he had had his own way, and had not been aware 
that it was often the way into which he had been guided. 
If both wife and daughters had sometimes raised 
bristles on the backs of neighbours, it had been his part 
to smooth them down, and he had gained liking by 
the contrast between himself and them. When his 
wife had died he would greatly have missed her sure 
capable hand in the affairs of life if his daughters had 
not then been of an age to fill her place. He was 
a man to be dependent upon women, and to draw the 
best that was in them towards himself. 

The guidance exercised by women, however, seldom 
earns love, even when it escapes domination, and the 
guidance exercised by the old Rector’s daughters did 
not always escape it, though they made his welfare 
the chief object in their lives. It was his son whom he 
loved, and thought most about, during the long hours 
in which he lay drifting towards the end. 

He had come to him late in life. He was now not 
yet twenty-four. If he had been only a year older 


SURLEY RECTORY 5 

the great anxiety which had shadowed the old man’s 
last months would have been lightened. 

The living of Surley was in the gift of the Bishop, 
but it had been held by a Cooper for three generations, 
covering a period of nearly eighty years. If only it 
could be handed on to Denis ! 

He had been ordained in the previous Advent, with 
a title to his father’s curacy. He had done the work 
of the parish, with the help, or oversight, of his sisters, 
and taken such of the services as is permitted to a 
Deacon. The people liked him, and if these matters 
were arranged by the popular voice he would cer- 
tainly have been the next Rector of Surley. But 
he would not be eligible for Priest’s Orders for an- 
other seven months. It was almost too much to hope 
that the Bishop would present a Deacon of only a few 
months’ standing to one of the richest livings in his 
gift. 

But the old man could not give up hope. These 
things had been done before; he had a dozen cases at 
his fingers’ ends. But unfortunately they were all 
cases dating back many years, to a time when the 
fitting of rewards to work done, or to be done, in the 
Church, had not seemed of such importance as now. 
Fifty years ago nobody would have made any fuss 
about such an appointment; now-a-days there would 
certainly be a fuss. But he would not admit that there 
ought to be; he only tacitly accepted the fact that it 
was impossible for him to take any steps to bring 
about what he so ardently desired, 


THE GRAFTONS 


0 

The Bishop had been to see him during his illness. 
Perhaps he might have put in a word then; he had 
thought beforehand that he might. But he had not 
done so. To that extent he accepted the changed 
Iconditions. But none the less he deplored them. He 
[felt it to be hard, for one thing, that he would have 
to die without knowing what should happen after! 
him. His own uncle, whom he had succeeded in the 
living, had been made contented by a promise on his 
deathbed. He himself had known that he would be 
presented to the living a month or more before it had 
become vacant. 

Ah ! things were ordered better in those days. There 
ftras more human kindliness, and not so many Radicals, 
to interfere with what had been established for so 
long and had worked so well. 

The two women and the young man sat by the bed- 
side, speaking sometimes in low voices to one an- 
other, otherwise busy with their thoughts. Now and 
then one of them would rise and put a hand to 
pillow or sheet, but more to give herself the comfort 
of performing some little service for him who would 
soon be beyond her care than because he still needed it. 
For he lay quite still, with eyes closed, breathing 
faintly as if in sleep. They would not have known 
that the end was very near if the doctor had not told 
them that the quiet breathing might cease at any time, 
and left them to wait for the end. 

There was not much emotion in the minds of either^ 
of them. The passing had been too long and too grad- 


SURLEY RECTORY 


9 

dal. Their brains were weary, if their active bodies 
were not. They had nursed him turn and turn about, 
with help from one or another of the faithful women 
about the house, but the nursing had made no great 
demands upon them. Neither would have admitted 
to the other that there was a slight sense of relief in 
the end having come at last. Gladly they would have 
kept him with them and spent themselves in his serv- 
ice, even if he should never speak to them or open his 
eyes upon them again. But they had grown used to 
the idea of losing him all the same. Life was strong 
in them, and there would be many things to do when 
he had gone. 

The end came as the dusk began to gather in the 
corners of the room, with a fluttering breath that was 
like a faint sigh, and a silence hardly more complete 
than the silence that had been before. The old Rector 
of Surley was dead, and the way was open for a new 
Rector to be appointed. 

The two sensible self-controlled women, who had for 
so long given their service with a cheerful capability 
that had seemed almost hard in its efficiency, faced a 
reaction that neither of them had been prepared for. 
They sobbed together, and confessed, each of them, 
that they had not so ardently wished that the dear 
old man should survive for a few hours or a few days 
longer than they now wished he had. They would 
never have him again alive. The thought was hardly 
to be borne. Their lives would be desolate. 

This mood lasted all the evening, and was genuine 


8 


THE GRAFTONS 


enough in its regret for a time now past and not 
valued enough while it had lasted. Denis was ac- 
cused, though not to his face, of want of heart, because 
he said very little, and had shed no tears whatever. 
By the end of the evening the fact that they had, and 
could still do so, had come to be a consolation. By 
the next morning it had become difficult to shed tears 
at will, though they still came on occasions, but at 
rarer intervals. When all the business in connection 
with the funeral and the notifying of friends and 
relations had to be met they were ready to meet it, 
and found satisfaction in the occupations with which 
every hour of the days that followed were filled. 

The letters and the calls of sympathy were most 
gratifying, as showing the high esteem in which the 
late Rector, and his family, were held. One of the first 
to call was Mrs. Carruthers, from Surley Park. There 
had been a coolness, but death overrode everything. 

The sisters were writing letters at the dining-room 
table. 

“ We had better go in together,” said Rhoda. “ It 
will be less awkward.” 

“ If she doesn’t say anything I don’t see why we 
should,” said Ethel. <fi Let bygones be bygones, I say, 
at a time like this.” 

“ I wonder if the Bishop has said anything to her,” 
said Rhoda, as they went across the hall together. The 
Bishop of the Diocese was Mrs. Carruthers’s uncle. 

Mrs. Carruthers was very young and very pretty; 
too young, the Misses Cooper were accustomed to say. 


SURLEY RECTORY 


9 


and perhaps too pretty, though there might be two 
opinions about that, to be mistress of a property like 
Surley, which had been left to her unconditionally by 
her husband. The old Rector had been fond of her 
before the dispute had parted the Park and the Rec- 
tory, and even afterwards, for its details had been 
kept from him, and he had not realised that the break 
had been so complete as it actually had been. 

Nothing was said about the cause of dispute, which 
had been concerned with the 4 goings on 5 of a dairy- 
maid at Surley Park. There had been an episode with 
a young man, and the Misses Cooper, very stern upon 
keeping the morals of the parish up to concert pitch, 
had fastened themselves upon it firmly. But it was 
not the dairy-maid who had been concerned in the 
episode, and they and Mrs. Carruthers had differed 
as to the relative importance of their unfortunate mis- 
take and of the fact that there had undoubtedly been 
something to complain of somewhere. 

There were tears in Ella Carruthers’s eyes as she 
came forward to meet the two sisters. 44 Oh, I am so 
sorry,” she said. 44 The dear old man ! Of course one 
knew the end must be coming, but it doesn’t make it 
less hard to bear.” 

Rhoda and Ethel had tears too, to meet this. They 
had begun almost to enjoy the bustle, but were glad 
to be able to show that the sadder softer feelings still 
had sway with them. They were also relieved at the 
final disappearance of the coolness between themselves 
and their neighbour. There had been a formal mending 


10 


THE GRAFTONS 


of the breach some months before, but they had not 
been in her house since, nor she in theirs. Soon they 
were talking to her about their father as if they had 
always been friends, and she was giving them genuine 
consolation by the affection she showed herself to have 
entertained towards him. Their feelings grew warmer, 
especially when she said, after they had talked about 
the old Rector for some time : “ I do hope Denis will 
succeed him. I am sure that is what he would most 
have liked.” 

This, from the Bishop’s niece, might or might not 
be significant. The Bishop was known to be very fond 
of her, and had stayed with her once at Surley Park, 
during the year in which he had occupied his See. 
It was with a sense of excitement that they set them- 
selves to find out exactly how significant it might 
be. 

“ It was the one thing that he really desired,” said 
Rhoda. “I think he had almost made up his mind to 
speak a word to the Bishop about it, when he came 
over to see him. But I suppose he felt he couldn’t. I 
know he didn’t.” 

“ I fancy,” said Ethel, “ that he thought he could 
safely leave it in the Bishop’s hands. After all, it 
would be far the best thing for the parish. That is 
undoubted.” 

“ And the Bishop might be expected to see that,” 
said Rhoda, backing her up. 66 He is very wise and 
farsighted. And he couldn’t help liking and admiring 
our dear father.” 


SURLEY RECTORY 


11 


The statement was almost a question. Ella Car- 
ruthers, faintly amused, treated it as such. 

“ Oh, no,” she said. “ He talked to me about him. 
He felt a great sympathy with him. I think he realised 
what his wishes were likely to be about Denis, though 
of course he didn’t say anything about it to me.” 

The sisters did not ask themselves how, in that case, 
she could have divined the thoughts of her august 
relative. Both of them brightened visibly. “ I don’t 
like to hope too much,” said Rhoda who, as the elder, 
always spoke first. “ But it would be such a good 
thing for the parish.” 

“ Everybody loves Denis,” said Ethel. “ There is 
nobody, I don’t care who he is, who could influence 
them more. And we should be here to help him, as 
we always helped our dear father. They know our 
ways. Of course, one mustn’t put it on personal 
grounds, but it would seem a pity for all our work 
here to be lost.” 

“ We should work wherever we went,” said Rhoda. 
“ It is not ourselves we are thinking of. Neither of us 
would care to settle down to a selfish life without try- 
ing to influence our fellow-creatures for good. But I 
do feel that if we were not permitted to stay on and 
work here, a great deal that we have done during the 
last twenty years and more might be lost. People so 
soon relapse.” 

Ella Carruthers could hardly keep the smile from 
her lips. The idea of the parish relapsing into heath- 
endom on the departure of the Misses Cooper amused 


12 


THE GRAFTONS 


her, though, in her softer mood towards them, she 
only found it rather pathetic that they should disclaim 
personal interest in the decision that was soon to be 
made. She knew little about the conditions of Church 
patronage, and still less as to what her uncle’s ideas 
on the subject were. But she thought she might ‘ put 
in a word 5 when he came to the funeral, as he had, 
most gratifyingly, announced his intention of doing; 
she had reason to believe, generally, that her word 
had weight with him. She left them with heightened 
hopes, which, if hardly justified by any influence in her 
power to exercise, at least put the seal upon the recon- 
ciliation between her and them. 

“ She really is kind at heart,” said Rhoda, as they 
went back into the dining-room, after saying good-bye 
to her. “ I shan’t be sorry to be friends with her 
again.” 

“ Nobody can say we have kow-towed,” said Ethel. 
“ It was the principle we stood up for, and although 
we frankly admitted the mistake we made we have 
never given way an inch upon that.” 


CHAPTER II 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 

Ella Carruthers lunched at Abington Abbey on that 
day. The whole family were there except Young 
George, who was at school, — George Grafton, Caro- 
line, Beatrix, Barbara, and Miss Waterhouse. The 
old Rector of Surley had been ill almost ever since the 
Graftons had come to live at the Abbey, and they had 
hardly known him. So the talk, as far as it concerned 
his death, was almost entirely devoted to the question 
of his successor. 

The family took a keen interest in it. George Graf- 
ton was patron of the living Abington, and the Vicar 
of Abington, the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, was 
known to cherish hopes that the richer living of Surley 
would be offered to him. In that case Grafton would 
have to present another Vicar to Abington, and his 
family did not propose to deprive him of their advice 
upon the subject. Also, none of them liked the Rev- 
erend A. Salisbury Mercer. 

“ We’re divided, you see, Ella,” said Caroline. “ We 
should like to get rid of Lord Salisbury, but we don’t 
think he deserves to have Surley.” 

“ And we rather love Denis,” said Beatrix. “ He is 
frightfully solemn, and he hasn’t shown any indication 
of loving any of us, the few times we have met him, 
13 


14 


THE GRAFTONS 


which annoys us a little : but we’re on his side, on the 
whole. We would keep Lord Salisbury for the sake 
of letting you have Denis.” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Ella. “We should 
all have to bear our crosses, whatever happened. Mine 
would be Rhoda and Ethel, if Denis gets it. But, as I 
told you once before, I should immediately set about 
finding him a wife, and then they would have to go. I 
think they would try to stop him marrying, whoever 
it was, and I should enjoy myself over it. I suppose 
none of you would care to take the situation. I could 
recommend you.” 

“ I might,” said Barbara, “ if you’ll wait till I 
have my hair up. I don’t feel that I could love Denis 
passionately, but I could be a good wife to him if he 
didn’t beat me.” 

“Barbara darling,” expostulated Miss Waterhouse. 
“ I don’t like to hear you talk in that way. It is not 
delicate.” 

“ I didn’t mean it, Dragon dear,” said Barbara. 
“ I’m the most delicate-minded female, really.” 

“ How would it be,” said Grafton, “ if we presented 
Denis to Abington, supposing Mercer got Surley?” 

The suggestion was received with applause. “ Really, 
Daddy, you’re quite brilliant,” said Beatrix. “ Lord 
Salisbury would hate that more than anything, except 
Denis getting Surley.” 

“ Beatrix dear,” said Miss Waterhouse. “ I don’t 
think you should talk as if the object of presenting one 
clergyman to a living were to annoy another one.” 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 15 


“ Quite right, Dragon,” said Grafton. “ The less 
we annoy the clergy the better, though they often an- 
noy us.” 

“ You would have Rhoda and Ethel here,” Ella Car- 
ruthers warned them. 

44 Then I don’t think you possibly can, Dad,” said 
Caroline. 44 If you offer it to Denis you must 
stipulate that he pensions them off. I think that what 
we really want is a very nice old clergyman with white 
hair.” 

44 A trifle infirm,” added Beatrix. 

44 And with a nice old wife who goes about in a 
basket chaise,” said Barbara. 44 Or else a very beauti- 
ful curate with a moustache, that I could fall in love 
with. Dragon darling, don't say I oughtn’t to have 
said that. I must fall in love sometime, you know, 
and it would be so good for me to begin with a clergy- 
man.” 

Fine weather had set in so early that year that ten- 
nis and croquet courts had already been marked out, 
and they played lawn tennis after luncheon. The 
court was visible from the road, little frequented, that 
ran through the park, and by and by the Vicar him- 
self came along it, with his wife, and called out to 
announce that he was coming in. 

44 That’s because he sees you here, Ella,” said 
Beatrix. 44 He has rather left off inviting himself in 
that way. He will want to know if the Bishop has 
dropped any hints. Couldn’t you possibly make up a 
few? ” 


16 


THE GRAFTONS 


There was a slight gleam in Ella Carruthers’s eye 
as she took the suggestion, though there was no time 
to reply to it, for the Vicar was already approaching, 
pomposity clothing him like a garment, his smiling, 
good-natured little wife by his side. The game, which 
was nearly finished, was dropped by consent, and the 
Vicar, after requesting that it should be continued, 
but not pressing the point, was content to be sur- 
rounded by them on the seats that were disposed at 
the edge of the lawn. 

“ We were so sorry to hear of dear old Mr. Cooper’s 
death,” said Mrs. Mercer to Ella. “ I’m sure it seems 
no time since he was as well and strong as anybody. 
I could hardly believe it when I heard it.” 

“ It has been expected for a long time,” said her 
husband. “ He has passed away in the ripeness of his 
years, and there is no need to repine. We went over 
this morning to offer our sympathy to those who are 
left behind. They are bearing up very well, I am happy 
to say. But you had just been to see them yourself, 
Mrs. Carruthers. They were much gratified by your 
kind visit, and I hear that his Lordship is to come 
over and take part in the funeral.” 

“ Yes, I believe so,” said Ella. “ I hope to get him 
to stay the night with me. It is some time since he 
came to see me, and we shall have a good deal to talk 
over.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the Vicar, with semi-archness. “ I 
know how much he values your advice. He has told 
me so himself.” 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 17 

“Really, Albert?” queried Mrs. Mercer, much in- 
terested. “ You never told me that.” 

The Yicar looked slightly annoyed. “ It was when 
I was over at the Palace,” he said somewhat inade- 
quately ; and turned to Ella again. “ It is rather 
pathetic,” he said, “ the way those poor girls cling 
to the idea that their young brother may be appointed 
to succeed their father. They even gain some encour- 
agement from something that you let fall, as to his 
Lordship’s intentions, no doubt with the idea of conj- 
forting them. But it would never do, you know. No 
Bishop in these days could afford to make such an 
appointment. It would create a scandal.” 

“ Didn’t you say, Albert, that it would amount al- 
most to the sin of simony? ” enquired Mrs. Mercer. 

“ Oh ! good heavens, Ella ! ” exclaimed Grafton. 
“ Do preserve your uncle from the sin of simony. That 
would be too awful.” 

The Vicar, sensitive to ridicule like most people of 
self-conceit, after a glance at the faces round him, 
turned upon his wife. “ I should never have said so 
absurd a thing in such a connection,” he said. “ You 
are thinking of something quite different.” 

Ella Carruthers broke in. “ My uncle has only been 
Bishop here for a little over a year,” she said. “ He 
has told me more than once that there has been a 
great deal to learn. And I know I have helped him 
in one or two things.” 

A gleam of satisfaction shone in the Vicar’s eye. 
She seemed to be appealing to him for advice, which 


18 


THE GRAFTONS 


she could pass on, and he was quite ready to give it. 
“ Your uncle,” he said, “ has spent all his life of serv- 
ice — hard and devoted service, I know — in large towns. 
Though no man could rival him in knowledge of urban 
clerical problems, it would be nothing to be surprised 
at if he were not yet fully alive to all the currents 
of opinion among the country clergy.” 

“ You have lived mostly in the country, Ella,” said 
Grafton. “ If you could give your uncle a few hints 
as to what the clergy think about these things he 
might perhaps be glad of it.” 

“ Oh, I’m sure he would,” broke in Mrs. Mercer 
enthusiastically. “ Dear Mrs. Carruthers, please try. 
It would be such a splendid thing. And I’m sure there’s 
nobody who could prime you up better than my hus- 
band. He has made a life-long study of these ques- 
tions, just as the Bishop has about town questions.” 

The Vicar almost simpered. “ I wouldn’t compare 
any knowledge of mine with the Bishop’s, my dear,” he 
said. “ At the same time, in my humble sphere, I 
have observed, and thought, and consulted with men 
perhaps wiser than myself, and I think I do know 
the conditions of a country diocese such as this, 
possibly, if I may say so without being misunder- 
stood, as well as any Bishop.” 

“ I know my uncle is always anxious to discover the 
opinions of people who really know things,” said Ella. 
“ And he is certainly not above taking advice.” 

“ I should hardly presume to offer advice,” said 
the Vicar. “ For one thing, my position as incumbent 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 19 

of one of the less important livings in the Diocese 
would hardly justify me in offering advice to my Dio- 
cesan. Personally, I am more than contented with my 
lot, and should never lift so much as a finger to change 
it. But if circumstances did conspire to move me to a 
higher sphere of influence, where it would not be unbe- 
coming to lift my voice in advice, I should consider it 
my duty to do so, if asked, knowing that possibly I 
could thus serve my generation.” 

“ I suppose the living of Surley would hardly give 
you that opportunity, would it?” asked Ella. “I 
think there are fewer inhabitants, and it is a poor little 
church.” 

“ Oh, yes, dear Mrs. Carruthers, it certainly would,” 
said Mrs. Mercer. “ The Rector of Surley has always 
been a person of importance. Even old Mr. Cooper 
was, though compared with my husband — ” 

“ Oh, please , my dear ! ” interposed her husband. 
“ Let me speak for myself. Your question wants con- 
sidering, Mrs. Carruthers. It is true, as my wife 
says, that the Rector of Surley has always been con- 
sidered a person of some weight in the Diocese. The 
last two incumbents were Rural Deans, and Mr. Cooper 
would have been so if he had not considered himself 
too old when the office fell vacant. Yes, I think I may 
say that the Rectorate of Surley would provide scope 
for a man anxious to serve in the way we have been 
discussing, though it was not actually the sort of 
position I had in my mind. But I should think it 
probable that his Lordship has already made his deci- 


20 


THE GRAFTONS 


sion. If not, and you have an opportunity of whis- 
pering a word in his ear, dear lady, warn him against, 
such a grave mistake as the appointment of young 
Cooper would be. I speak-*-” 

“ But don’t , for goodness sake, tell Rhoda and Ethel 
that my husband advised you to,” interrupted Mrs. 
Mercer. “ We should never hear the last of it.” 

The Vicar showed signs of acute annoyance. 
“ Really, Gertrude ! ” he said. “ One would think I 
was doing something underhand in speaking as I do.” 

“ Well, dear, of course we have both sympathised 
with them when they told us of their hopes. I know 
it was only to — ” 

But he would not let her go on. “ For young Cooper 
as a man I have the utmost respect,” he said, “ and if 
he were twenty or even perhaps ten years older and 
had proved himself in his sacred calling, as he will 
do — as I’m sure he will do — I should say institute 
him as Rector of Surley, and the blessing of God go 
with him. But it is not a personal question. Religion 
is too sacred a thing to be treated in that way, and I 
have a duty to perform that can’t be tampered with. 
For the Bishop’s own sake he should be warned against 
making a mistake of that sort, Rhoda and Ethel or 
no Rhoda and Ethel.” 

“ Well, Ella,” said Grafton, rising, 46 you know what 
to do and say, if you’re asked. I’m sorry for young 
Denis, because I should like to see him settled in a good 
fat living. But you see it wouldn’t do, and your uncle 
ought to be warned against it.” 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 21 


The Vicar also rose. “ At the same time,” he said, 
“ I shouldn’t like it to be thought that the advice 
had come from me. It might almost look as if I wanted 
the living for myself, and I should greatly dislike that 
idea going abroad.” 

“ But you wouldn’t refuse it if my uncle were per- 
suaded that you were the best man to give it to?” 
hazarded Ella. 

“ I should consider it,” said the Vicar, after a 
moment’s weighty pause. “ I can’t say more at pres- 
ent than that I should consider it.” 

As his wife also seemed about to express herself 
upon the subject he took his leave, somewhat hurriedly, 
and carried her along with him. Grafton and Caroline 
accompanied them to the garden gate. 

“ Isn’t he the limit ? ” enquired Beatrix when they 
were out of earshot. “ Can he think we’re all such 
fools as not to see through him? ” 

“ I wanted to see how far he would go,” said Ella. 
“ Really, I think it would be almost worth while hav- 
ing him at Surley to be able to play with him. But 
from this moment I am heart and soul on the side of 
Denis, Rhoda and Ethel or no Rhoda and Ethel.” 

This was not the only clerical invasion of the Abbey 
on that afternoon. It contained a household which 
presented such attractions to friendly neighbours that 
a day seldom went by without a visit from one or 
more of them. Worthing, the agent of the Abington 
property, as well as of the adjoining one of Wil- 
borough, and his pupil, Maurice Br&dby, came to re* 


22 


THE GRAFTONS 


inforce the tennis players. So did Richard Mansergh, 
the eldest son of Sir Alexander, of Wilborough, a sailor 
home on leave, and already if appearances went for 
anything, desperately enamoured of Beatrix. And 
about tea-time the party was joined by the Reverend 
Rogers Williams, Vicar of Feltham, and his wife, who 
came over on bicycles, accompanied by several Aire- 
dale terriers, whose breeding they supervised in the 
intervals of more serious occupations. They were 
known as the Breezy Bills in the Grafton family, and 
a closer intimacy had been established with them dur- 
ing the previous holidays by Young George, who had 
taken a youthful liking to their daughter, Maggie, 
aged fourteen. 

Tea was in the Long Gallery upstairs, and the talk 
was mostly about the Rectory of Surley. 

“Are you a candidate?” asked Grafton of Mr. 
Williams. “ Because if so we shall have to be careful 
what we say. I may tell you at once that our sym- 
pathies are with young Denis Cooper.” 

“Ia candidate ! ” exclaimed Mr. Williams with a 
hearty laugh — he laughed heartily at anything in 
which a humourous significance might be inferred, and 
at many things where it was not apparent, — “ Oh, 
good gracious, no ! Wouldn’t leave Feltham for any- 
thing in the world. We’ve got everything exactly as 
we like it there, haven’t we, dear? ” 

“ Yes,” said his wife. “ The kennels couldn’t be 
beaten and they’ve cost us a lot of money, which we 
should lose if we moved. And there’s the carpentering 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 23 

shop too. Oh, no, we look on at it all and laugh about 
it, don’t we, dear? ” 

Mr. Williams laughed about it. 44 I don’t know 
about young Denis,” he said. “ That would be rather 
a tall order, as things go now-a-days. There’s one fel- 
low, though, that I hope won't get it. But perhaps I’d 
better not say who he is in this company.” He 
laughed again. 

44 Oh, we know who you mean,” said Caroline. 44 We 
hope he won’t get it either. But why shouldn’t 
Denis? ” 

44 1 suppose because all the rest of us would kick up 
such a fuss,” said Mr. Williams, laughing most heartily. 
44 1 shouldn’t on my own account, but there are lots of 
older men who have worked hard all their lives who 
ought to be considered before a young one just begin- 
ning. There’s nothing to do there either. A young 
fellow ought to have something to do.” 

44 Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Ella. 44 Rhoda and 
Ethel find a great deal to do, and Denis is never idle. 
I can’t take your view of it at all, and I hope my 
uncle won’t.” 

Mr. Williams laughed. 44 We were wondering how 
much Mrs. Carruthers might have to do with it as 
we rode over, weren’t we, dear ? ” he asked of his wife, 
and laughed again. 

44 We hope she is going to have a great deal to do 
with it,” said Beatrix. 44 We are heart and soul for 
Denis.” 

Richard Mansergh, who was sitting next to her, 


24 


THE GRAFTONS 


frowned slightly. “ Brill — our fellow — was saying 
that with that big house and good income there ought 
to be a sort of community there,” he said. 

“ That’s just what Father Brill would say,” said 
Mrs. Williams. “ Everybody likes Father Brill ; but 
preserve us from having our nice Rectories and Vicar- 
ages filled with people of his sort. I don’t mean his 
sort personally, but celibates stalking about in cas- 
socks, and no women in the parsonages for poor peo- 
ple to come to. It wouldn’t do at all.” 

“ I’m sure it wouldn’t,” said Worthing. “You can’t 
change and muddle up English country life like that. 
What were all the parsons’ houses built for? You’ve 
got them in every village in the land, so that there 
should be an educated man able to live like a gentle- 
man ; and now people like Brill want to put it all back 
again. It won’t do.” 

“ You speak with considerable heat, James,” said 
Grafton. 

“ Well, I think it’s a lot of tommy-rot,” said 
Worthing, “ and I’ve often told Brill so. The 
people don’t want it. The happiest state of things 
for them is where an old-fashioned Squire is doing 
his duty, and an old-fashioned parson is doing his 
duty.” 

“ And an old-fashioned agent is doing his duty,” 
hazarded Barbara. 

Worthing eyed her askance, and then chuckled. 
“ You’re a cheeky young baggage,” he said, “ but you’re 
not far wrong either. The agent has to drive the 


A QUESTION OF PATRONAGE 25 


team, and it wants some driving. It’s the human side 
that’s wanted ; that’s what it is — the human side.” 

He came abruptly to an end, with a frown of per- 
plexity on his ample, not over-intellectual face. It 
was Caroline who interpreted his ideas for him fur- 
ther. 

“ You’re quite right, dear Uncle Jimmy,” she said. 
44 That’s what strikes one when one gets into country 
life a little. The system may not be perfect, but it 
works splendidly with the right people to look after 
it.” 

Her father smiled at her indulgently. 44 What do 
you know about the system? ” he asked her. 

44 Oh, I’ve been reading,” she said. 44 I read a lot 
when you are up in London, Dad, and don’t want look- 
ing after.” 

44 I don’t see much wrong with the system,” said 
Richard Mansergh. 44 It’s worked jolly well for hun- 
dreds of years, and it’s only the Radicals who want to 
upset it.” 

44 The naughty wicked Radicals, of course ! ” said 
Beatrix. 44 I like them better than the Tories myself. 
I once met Mr. Birrell, and he’s the sweetest old lamb 
in the world.” 

44 One swallow doesn’t make a summer,” said Rich- 
ard. 44 Wait till you’ve met a few more.” 

Mr. Williams laughed heartily. 44 They’d like to 
turn us all out,” he said. 44 But we won’t be turned 
out — not without a struggle. I don’t think there’s 
much wrong with the system either, and I’d rather 


26 


THE GRAFTONS 


see young Denis Rector of Surley than one of Father 
Brill’s communities there.” 

“ Oh, so would I,” said Ella, “ and I hope my 
uncle will make him. He’s old for his years already, 
and every day he’ll get older.” 

“ Do you think the Bishop will appoint him? ” asked 
Mr. Williams. 

“ I don’t know,” she said. “ If I knew I’d say so. 
But I do know that whatever he does it won’t be be- 
cause he’s afraid of what people will say about him.” 


CHAPTER III 


IN THE GARDEN 

They went back to the tennis courts after tea, but 
there were not enough of them to make up two sets, 
the Breezy Bills having left on their bicycles, followed 
by a trail of Airedales. “ Come and look at the rock- 
garden,” said Caroline to Maurice Bradby. 

The young man brightened visibly. He had sat si- 
lent during the conversation at the tea table, as he 
generally sat silent in company, being too diffident to 
put forward his views in a general conversation. But 
he had views of his own on many subjects, and those 
who took the trouble to elicit them often found them 
interesting. 

Caroline was one of these. She was no older than 
he, but had seen so much more of the world and its 
inhabitants that her feeling towards him was almost 
maternal. 

He was not like the young men whom she had met 
in such shoals in London ball-rooms and in country 
houses, not one of whom, however they might differ 
in character and tastes, but had done and known many 
of the things that she had. Bradby was the son of a 
clergyman, and had left his provincial Grammar-school 
for a stool in a provincial bank, to be released from it 
after four years of unhappy confinement for the coun- 
37 


28 


THE GRAFTONS 


try life after which his soul had always hankered. 
The country was a passion with him, and Caroline had 
penetrated some of his depths at an early stage, when 
the rest of the family were only in the state of 
finding him uncommonly heavy in hand, because his 
upbringing had not trained him to respond to the 
easy intimacy which they offered to all whom they 
thought worthy of it, and had offered to him on his 
introduction to them under Worthing’s wing. Caro- 
line, sweet and kind to all who seemed to need helping 
in the world, had taken more trouble about him than 
the rest, but they had all come to accept him by this 
time for what he was. It was no longer awkward to 
have him sitting silent while talk flowed high all about 
him; they knew him too well to be obliged to drag him 
into it out of politeness, or for one of them to detach 
herself to talk to him. And it was only in talk that 
he was backward. If there was anything to do he 
was a stand-by, — clever and capable and interested. 
All of them liked him very well, but only Caroline had 
come to be unaffected by his dissimilarity from type. 

He was tall and loosely built, with large, strong 
hands, and, it must be confessed, with unusually large 
feet. His hair was not well brushed, and looked as if 
it could not be. His features were indeterminate, but 
he had large, dark eyes which somehow redeemed them. 
His clothes were unobtrusive, but whatever he wore 
he never looked well-dressed. Among the smart young 
men of the Graftons’ large circle of friends, who came 
down to shoot at Abington or to spend week-ends there, 


IN THE GARDEN 


29 


and even those who were not smart but belonged ob- 
viously to the same class, he seemed always out of 
place. This was somewhat of an annoyance to 
Beatrix, who was apt to complain that there was no 
reason why he should so persistently take a back seat, 
considering that they had done all they could to make 
a friend of him. But it did not annoy Caroline. She 
had seen once or twice young men among their visitors 
who did not live and move wholly on the surface of 
things find something in common with him. He was 
her protege. She did not even want to see him 6 smart- 
ened up,’ as Beatrix, commenting upon his unaccented 
appearance, had sometimes suggested as a process 
that would improve him. 

The rock-garden, fashioned the previous year out 
of a disused stone quarry across a paddock from the 
garden, was full of interest, in this its second flower- 
ing season, and attracted visits at all hours of the day. 
Maurice Bradby had worked hard with hands and 
brains at its construction, and knew more about what 
was growing in it than any of its owners. He had 
had few opportunities of acquiring garden knowledge 
in the provincial town in which most of his life had 
been spent, but he sucked in and assimilated such knowl- 
edge without effort, and added to it by close observa- 
tion, and to a lesser extent by study of his subject. 
All subjects that had to do with nature found this 
eager response in him, and Worthing, a countryman 
by birth and upbringing, had said more than once 
that he had never had a pupil so easy to teach. 


30 


THE GRAFTONS 


Bradby found his voice the moment they were clear 
of the tennis lawn. “ What did you mean about the 
system being wrong just now? ” he asked. 

She looked up at him with a smile. “ I don’t think I 
said it was wrong, did I? ” she said. “ I said that it 
wanted the right people to make it work.” 

He seemed to be considering this, and she said, 
half jestingly, “ I know you think everything is right 
in the country.” 

“ It’s right for me,” he said simply. “ I suppose it’s 
right for you, too, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Yes ; but then look how you and I are placed.” 

He considered this too. “ We’re not placed in the 
same way,” he said. “ I’m part of the machine, and 
I’m learning to be a still more important part of the 
machine.” 

“Well, am I not part of the machine too? If we 
were just here to enjoy ourselves, as some people do 
buy country houses just to enjoy themselves, I sup- 
pose that would mean standing apart from the ma- 
chine. But we aren’t like that, are we? ” 

He did not reply at once, and as they had now 
reached the rock-garden, and Caroline’s next words 
were about the flowers that were showing their vivid 
spring colours in the amphitheatre all about them, 
the conversation was broken off for the time. 

But it was resumed again a little later, as they 
stood here and there, or moved slowly up and down 
the rocky stairs or about the stone paths. 

“ You know, I think we did take it rather as a new 


IN THE GARDEN 


31 


toy when we first come down here,” Caroline said. 
44 We loved the country, and we wanted a country 
house of our very own. Of course we’ve all enjoyed 
it awfully in that way, but I don’t think any of us 
thought we should live here so much as we have. 
We’ve hardly lived in London, all together, since. And 
we are always wanting to get back here when we 
do.” 

44 Mr. Grafton doesn’t take such an interest in the 
estate as Sir Alexander does in WilboroughP ” he 
said. 

She laughed. 44 Darling old Dad ! ” she said. 44 It 
is rather a bore to him. He works when he is in Lon- 
don, and likes to play down here, and leave the work 
to you and Uncle Jimmy. But he’s a good Squire all 
the same, isn’t he? He gives you everything you ask 
for.” 

44 Oh, yes. There’s never any trouble about money 
to run the show as it ought to be run. I only meant 
he didn’t take much interest in details.” 

44 1 don’t suppose people at the head of a big busi- 
ness generally do, do they? They leave the details to 
the people they can trust. Dad wouldn’t take much 
interest in the details of his banking.” 

44 Oh, well, I see what you mean. This isn’t his real 
business as it is Sir Alexander’s. Still, there’s some- 
thing I can’t get quite right in my mind. It’s all so 
— well, so happy, to me, that I don’t like to think 
there’s a flaw anywhere — in the system, I mean. Mr. 
Grafton pays for it, doesn’t he? He makes his 


32 


THE GRAFTONS 


money somewhere else. He bought the estate, but it 
can’t return him much on his capital — certainly not 
enough to live on in the way you do.” 

“ No, but why should it? We get all the fun of it 
extra. I suppose you may say Dad pays for that. 
It returns enough to run itself, though. I suppose 
you and Uncle Jimmy see to that.” 

“ Oh, yes. It keeps us going, too. And everything 
is run as it ought to be. All the farms are 
let, and everybody is contented, — or ought to be. 
Everybody is getting a living, anyhow, out of the 
land.” 

“ I love to think of people getting a living out of 
the land.” 

His eyes shone as he turned his face quickly to her. 
“ Do you feel like that about it, too ? ” he asked. 
“ So do I. It fills me with pleasure. I like to think of 
everything that’s growing on the land, and every little 
thing that’s done to make it grow, and the men who do 
it all; and some of them get so wise, always living 
and working on it, that you would never learn all 
they know if you read about it till the end of your 
life.” 

“ I talked to old Bull once while he was laying a 
fence,” she said. “ He was proud to let me see how 
cleverly he was doing it, and that it wasn’t so easy as 
it looked. He has been hedging and ditching all his 
life, and he enjoys it as much as anything he could 
do.” 

Yes ? I know, That’s the sort of work a roan can 


IN THE GARDEN 


33 


enjoy, with his hands. You’re helping nature, and 
if you learn the ways of nature she helps you. There’s 
never any monotony in nature. She’s alive.” 

“ When you see people like that, you’re apt to be 
ashamed of yourself for all the things you want to 
make you contented. Old Bull has brought up a large 
family on less than half of what I have for a dress 
allowance. His dear old wife, — I know her too — gets 
the most out of every penny that he gives her, and he 
has all he wants at home. There’s no anxiety about life 
when you’ve been trained to do without things and 
not to want them.” 

“ No, you get your satisfaction out of the things you 
have, and they are much bigger than the things you 
do without.” 

“ They have enough to eat and drink, and good 
clothes to wear. They have their family interests, and 
their friends. They see people they know, and have 
known all their lives, more easily than people like us 
do. They hardly ever move out of their village, but 
the little changes of life from day to day and from 
week to week, with their work, and their times of 
leisure, are enough for them.” 

He smiled at her. “ It’s an idyllic picture,” he said. 
“ There are people who will tell you that you won’t 
keep them on the land except by bringing the pleasures 
of the town to them.” 

She did not hesitate; her ideas seemed to be clearly 
set. “ That’s mostly the young people,” she said. 
“ I’m only thinking now of the older ones, who really 


34 


THE GRAFTONS 


belong to the land. Their interests are in it, and I 
think it brings them something as near contentment 
as it is possible to have.” 

66 You feel a little like that about it yourself, don’t 
you ? ” he asked half shyly. 

She smiled. “ I suppose we are generally thinking 
a little about ourselves when we are talking about 
other people,” she said. “ I know how different my 
life is from theirs — how much more I want to — to 
keep me quiet. But I know that the more simple I 
make it, and the more it depends upon what lies around 
me, the happier I am.” 

He looked at her almost with veneration. She was 
an unusually pretty girl, with an expression of sweet- 
ness and kindness which was more than her beauty. 
To him she seemed so far above all other girls whom 
he had ever seen as to be of a different flesh and 
spirit. Beatrix was even more beautiful than Caro- 
line, and she was kind and sweet too, though with more 
contrariety in her. But to him she was common clay 
beside Caroline, whose lightest word he was inclined 
to receive as an oracle. Both of them seemed to him, 
in his self-respecting timidity, far above himself. He 
had had no contact with the life they represented be- 
fore he had come to Abington, and thought himself 
quite unfitted to take part in it, with its ease and 
elaboration of wealth and unfamiliar custom marking 
it at every turn. To think of himself as anywhere on 
the same footing as these shining girls would have 
seemed to him hardly less presumptuous than to think 


IN THE GARDEN 


35 


of himself as on a level with a Royal Princess. But 
just as the goddesses of old time filled the hearts of 
mortal men with bliss by showing them what they 
shared with them, but never lost their godhead by so 
doing, so Caroline moved his wonder and admiration 
by letting him into some of the secret places of her 
nature, which was as fair as its outward form, but 
still remained high above him. 

“ It’s what I feel,” he said gently, “ though I lived 
a dull life before I came here, and you lived a gay one. 
I’ve given up nothing that I wanted. I enjoy my 
life much more; but still it’s a good deal simpler than 
it was.” 

“ It comes of doing the work you like in the sur- 
roundings you like,” she said sagely. “ With a woman 
it isn’t so much the work as all the little ways of spend- 
ing her time. She doesn’t as a rule, unless she’s crea- 
tive, or has to earn her own living, work by herself, 
or for herself. She is in touch with others all the 
time. I never thought of myself as having a place here, 
except the one I have always had at home. But I 
have, you know. I’ve made friends with a great many 
people. We all have. We know most of the people in 
the village, and all the children. I suppose I just 
thought of Abington, when we first came down, as a 
lovely house in which we could enjoy ourselves, by our- 
selves, or with the friends we asked to come here, and 
the people we should get to know in the houses round. 
I never thought of it as a place with a few hundred 
people living right round you. But now I know them, 


36 


THE GRAFTONS 

it’s different. I have^ plenty of friends among them 
too, friends who tell me things about themselves, and 
like to hear what I have to tell them. I think I have 
made myself part of the machine, after all. But I like 
to think about it as a big family.” 

They were walking back to the tennis lawn by 
this time. “ Yes, that’s what Worthing meant by 
the human side,” said Bradby. “ I know he thinks a 
lot about that, and we have talked about it. It isn’t 
giving them charity ; they don’t want that ; or they 
ought not to want it. It’s feeling that you’re all the 
same flesh and blood. If there has been anything 
wrong with the system, that’s what has kept it to- 
gether all these years.” 

Richard Mansergh and Beatrix did not talk about 
the system when they presently betook themselves for 
a stroll in the evening sunlight, before he mounted his 
horse to ride home. He had, in truth, a little difficulty 
in persuading her to take it with him, for his admira- 
tion of her had by this time reached the point at which 
it demanded expression, and expression in its turn was 
apt to demand answers of a kind which she was not 
ready to give. But at this time she rather prided her- 
self upon her total immunity from the softer passions, 
and gained some satisfaction in fencing with them 
when they were obtruded on her notice. It was only 
a question of whether or no she was in the mood to 
exercise her wits that made her accept or decline 
thesk contests, and she had only hung back a little 
because her late activities had rather tired her. 


IN THE GARDEN 


37 


She was enough to turn the head of any man, with 
her sweet flower-like face, whose mischievous eyes only 
made it more bewitching. She was only nineteen, and 
her slender form had hardly yet filled out to woman- 
hood, but showed delicious soft curves of neck and 
shoulder. She wore a short white skirt and a white 
silk blouse, all very workmanlike for her play, but most 
femininely becoming. A wide-brimmed hat, which she 
caught up from the seat beside her, slightly altered the 
note of her clothes. She seemed to the young man 
more desirable thus, walking by his side, than in the 
activities of the game, although he had admired her 
grace and skill too while she had been playing. Per- 
haps the hat was put on instinctively to soften the 
impressions of athleticism; but a wide hat brim also 
conceals eyes and mouth from one who is considerably 
taller, when it is to be desired that they shall be con- 
cealed. 

Richard Mansergh was some years older than she 
— a Commander in His Majesty’s Navy, and a good 
man at his job, a born lover of the sea, but just at 
present anxious to spend as much time away from it 
as rules and duties stretched to their utmost limit 
would allow. He was taller than most sailors, and 
rather good-looking or rather ugly according to 
whether regularity of feature or perfection of limb 
should appeal to the observer. In form he was some- 
thing of an Adonis, and the shape of the head and the 
way it was set on his neck hardly prepared one for a 
face that was not that of an Adonis, though it showed 


88 


THE GRAFTONS 


strength and a cleanness that had its attraction too. 

He was very deeply in love, more deeply in love than 
he had ever been in his life, or had ever thought to 
be with a very young girl, since his salad days were 
long since over. He was of an ardent temperament, 
and previous loves had burnt themselves out without 
ever coming to the point of a strong desire for matri- 
mony. But this time it was coming to that, if he could 
win himself any response from this intoxicating, tor- 
menting, elusive creature, whose image had imprinted 
itself so deeply on his inward vision that he walked the 
earth or sailed the seas with it ever before him. He 
was masterful in his ways, and his wooing, when once 
he had made up his mind, was direct. But he would 
never propose to her, if he wooed her for ten years, 
unless he gained some sign of love from her. He 
wanted the whole of her, for his very own. It was 
like heady wine to him to think of her with him always, 
in spirit if not in body. All he would have, all he 
would do, would be hers, but she must make it so 
first, and she must give him back all that was in her, 
all the endless treasures of her mind and her spirit, 
which thrilled him afresh every time he brought a 
new one to light. He had never felt like that about any 
woman before, and he exulted in the strength of his 
passion, and the new things about love that it was 
teaching him. They were all good things, and made the 
cleanest of his past loves seem like mere sensuality. 
It would be the true, deathless marriage, if he could 
win her. 


IN THE GARDEN 


39 


Beatrix was far from suspecting on what a pedestal 
of adoration he had set her. It hardly showed in the 
way he treated her, which was masterful and encroach- 
ing. She knew she was being stormed, and rather en- 
joyed it, but she did not know how the weather would 
change, if she surrendered. Then there would be a deep 
enduring calm, and strength in which she could rest 
herself. If she surrendered! She was nowhere near 
it at present. 

“ I want you to tell me about that fellow you were 
in love with.” 

She turned a little pale at the shock, and stood still 
on the grassy path down which they were wandering to- 
wards the yew-enclosed lily pond. She was used to 
his abrupt attacks, and had nerved herself to meet 
one, as he had walked silent by her side. But she had 
not expected anything like this. 

Her momentary pallor was succeeded by a deep 
blush, as she looked up at him with protesting eyes. 
He met her gaze, and adored her afresh because she 
did not look down. 

“ Really, I’m not going to talk to you about that,” 
she said indignantly. 

He went on, and after a moment’s hesitation she 
went with him, though her inclination was to turn 
back. But she never ran away from anything. 

“ Why not? ” he asked. “ It’s nothing to be ashamed 
of. I want to know how much you cared for him.” 

The shock once over, Beatrix was not sorry to have 
her lips opened for her. It is not often that a girl 


40 


THE GRAFTONS 


is given the opportunity of explaining that she did 
not care very much for a man to whom she has been 
engaged, and who has left her; at least, not to any- 
body to whom the statement will bring pleasure, and 
credence. 

66 Haven’t you ever known what calf-love is ? ” she 
enquired, beginning by being very hard upon herself. 

“ Oh, yes, rather. All men do. It’s nothing to be 
ashamed of. Love’s a very beautiful thing, you know, 
and if you like beautiful things you’re on the lookout 
for it from an early age. Sometimes it’s the right 
sort of thing you get hold of, but as you don’t 
know much when you’re first attacked you generally 
don’t.” 

Beatrix felt herself helped. “ Well, I suppose girls 
have it, too,” she said. “ In books they are generally 
supposed to begin with a curate.” 

She felt suddenly rather like crying, she could not 
have told why; but it was because the love she had 
given to the man who had been sent away from her 
and had not come back again, had been a sacred thing, 
though now it was dead; and its uprooting had left a 
wound which had not yet become a scar. She was 
glad to sit down on one of the stone seats of the lily- 
pond garden, which by this time they had reached. 

“ You wouldn’t do that sort of thing,” he said. “ I 
expect until that fellow made love to you, you’d 
laughed at it all.” 

This was quite true, and she felt herself lifted by his 
understanding. It was painful to have loved and to 


IN THE GARDEN 


41 


love no longer; but since she did love no longer it was 
more comforting to her self-respect to believe that her 
love had been of a lighter quality than she had thought 
it at the time. 

She dropped the ugly idea of calf-love. She could 
do better than that, on consideration. 44 I should have 
been a Marquise you know,” she said, 44 and a very 
rich and important one. Girls are apt to be bowled 
over by that sort of thing, you know.” 

“ You wouldn’t be, though,” he said again with 
great directness. 

This was quite true too. She was flattered, but 
was not prepared to drop this line entirely. And she 
believed every word she was saying. 44 I don’t mean 
that I was on the lookout for a title, in that crude sort 
of way,” she said. 44 I don’t think I’m like that.” 

How entirely unlike it he thought her he found it 
difficult to refrain from saying in a way that might 
have startled her, touched as he was by the patheti- 
cally doubtful note in her speech. 

44 Of course you’re not,” he said. 44 1 told you so. 
But I suppose everybody all round you was egging you 
on, and flattering you about it. You’d like to think 
you were pleasing people.” 

How understanding he was, in spite of the rough 
shocks his speeches sometimes brought with them! It 
really had been like that, at first. 

44 My darling old Daddy wasn’t pleased at all,” she 
said. “ He hated it.” 

“ Yes, I know he did. It!s a great feather in his 


42 


THE GRAFTONS 


cap. Mast fathers would have gone about purring. 
He was a good-looking fellow too, wasn’t he? I never 
saw him myself, but my brother Geoffrey says he 
was.” 

This was a line she would rather have kept off of. 
“ Yes, I suppose he was,” she said judicially. “He 
was a lot older than me, and had seen a great deal 
of the world. Of course that flattered me. I don’t 
think a younger man would have swept me off my feet 
as he did.” 

The Marquis de Lassigny had been thirty-six at 
the time of his quick wooing of Beatrix. Richard 
Mansergh was thirty-two, and had also seen a good 
deal of the world. This statement brought him pleas- 
ure. 

“ I see now,” said Beatrix, speaking very calmly, 
“ that I thought of him as possessing all sorts of 
qualities that weren’t really his. Of course I thought 
I knew a great deal about men, as I had been out a 
whole season, and had seen so many of them. Now I 
see how little I really knew.” 

She was getting on very nicely, but his next words 
brought a check. “ But you did love him,” he said, 
uncompromisingly. “ You wanted to give him every- 
thing that was in you.” 

How true that was she felt a pang in remembering. 
Whatever his love for her had been, hers had been 
for him the entire surrender of all she was or would be. 

She was on her defence. “ I told you I didn’t know 
enough,” she said. “ But I had never loved anybody 


IN THE GARDEN 43 

before — in that way. Of course I gave all the best that 
was in me.” 

He caught his breath. It wouldn’t have been she if 
she hadn’t done that. But what a treasure for a 
man to throw away ! “ He can’t have been fit to black 

your boots,” he said, “ or he’d have waited for you for 
twenty years.” 

She felt the need of a lighter note. “ I should have 
been old and ugly by that time,” she said. 

“ You’d have been neither. But if you’d lost all 
your looks you’d have been just the same.” 

She was touched by the almost impersonal convic- 
tion in his speech, and comforted by his belief in her. 
But she was not yet ready. “ It’s very kind of you 
to say that,” she said. “ He didn’t think so. And 
I’m very glad he didn’t now. It took me a little time 
to get over it, but I have got over it. I don’t want 
anything that I haven’t got now. I love my family, 
and they love me, and we’re all going to be happy to- 
gether for a long time. Now, I think we’ll go in.” 

He rose obediently and walked back to the house by 
her side. She had given him no opening such as he 
ardently longed for, no response that might bid him 
hope. But he could wait for that. It would come in 
time, if mortal man could do anything to induce it. 

As for her, she was in a more emotional state than 
appeared on the surface. Such an experience as she 
had undergone — to love for the first time, and to have 
the love rejected — could scarcely help hardening a 
nature such as hers, yielding and trustful. But the 


44 


THE GRAFTONS 


hardening would not set in until the wound became a 
scar; and he had opened it again, and delayed the 
process. 

It served him better than he knew that he had done 
so. 


CHAPTER IV 


A PRESENTATION 

The old Rector of Surley was duly buried, and all his 
friends and neighbours for miles round attended his 
burying. The Bishop was there, sympathetic and 
urbane. He talked most kindly to the Misses Cooper, 
and in such a way as once more to bring to their eyes 
those tears which the abundant business of the past 
few days had almost dried up. And he was closeted 
with Denis for nearly half an hour in the comfortable 
study of which the young man had made himself the 
occupant. Thereafter he retired to his niece’s house, 
and spent a pleasant restful afternoon and evening, 
not too much overcome with melancholy to enjoy the 
little change. 

Had he said anything? The sisters had hardly been 
able to restrain themselves from listening outside the 
door, and fastened upon Denis the moment their illus- 
trious guest had left the house. 

Denis frowned slightly. No, he had said nothing. 

What had they talked about then? They were not 
going to be put off in that way, by the brother they 
had nursed, and smacked, not so many years before. 
They supposed, rather sharply, that he and the Bishop 
had not spent all that time together in silence. 

Denis did not give them much information, but left 


46 


THE GRAFTONS 


them to infer that the Bishop’s talk had just been that 
of a kind wise Father in God with a young man 
setting out upon his life’s work. They construed 
this into a wish on his part to find out for himself 
whether this particular young man was a suitable object 
for his patronage, and hoped afresh. If he had not 
been going to offer Denis the living, he would certainly 
have said so, and advised him what to do when his 
curacy at Surley came to an end. For a new incum- 
bent would not want a curate. Denis would either stay 
on as Rector or depart altogether. 

Two or three days went past. Denis went to Lon- 
don on business connected with his father’s estate, and 
having got there sent a telegram to say that he should 
not be returning until the following day. 

His sisters did not quite like this. He had given 
no reason for staying away over the night, and, if 
they would have disclaimed the right to direct his 
movements, there was still a lingering idea in their 
minds that they ought to be consulted about them. 
He had taken up no clothes, and there was the hint of 
a suspicion that he had given them the slip; also that 
he had stayed up to amuse himself, which would not be 
becoming so soon after the sad event. Denis had al- 
ways been extraordinarily well-behaved, and wise and 
steady beyond his years. They prided themselves a 
good deal on the way he had been brought up. He 
would not do anything actually wrong; that they 
were sure of. Still, it was a good thing that he would 
have them there to look after him. If he were ap- 


A PRESENTATION 


47 


pointed Rector of Surley, he would want all the ad- 
vice, and direction, that they could give him, at his 
age. They had made it plain to the Bishop, without, 
of course, obtruding themselves or their desires, that 
he could rely upon them to give that advice and direc- 
tion. 

The next morning the long-expected letter came. 
There was no doubt about it. It was written in the 
episcopal hand and sealed with the episcopal seal. 
Really, it was extraordinarily tiresome of Denis not 
to be there to open it. 

It did not, however, take them quite half a minute 
to decide to open it themselves. A longer period of 
hesitation would have made it appear that it was not 
the most natural thing to do, as of course it was. 
Denis would certainly have asked them to open it if 
he had known he would be absent when it came, and 
after all, the letter was as important to them as it was 
to him. 

They drew a long breath of delight and relief as 
they devoured its contents together. As they told 
one another immediately afterwards, they had really 
not dared to hope, but now their fears were set at 
rest it was easy to see that nothing else could have 
happened. If only their dear father could have 
known ! 

They both thought of him, in the pleasure to which 
they now gave themselves up. It would have sent him 
out of the world happy, the dear old man. Really, if 
the Bishop had intended to present Denis all along, 


48 


THE GRAFTONS 


he might have stretched the point and relieved their 
father’s mind of its anxiety. 

When they had settled down to the news, and to 
their cooling breakfast, a slight reaction set in. They 
felt all the fears and doubts with which they had lived 
for so long rolling back upon them, though now they 
should have been set at rest. Really, it had scarcely 
seemed possible that the living should be given to Denis, 
considering his youth, and his Deacon’s orders. Their 
talk for a time was almost as if they were blaming the 
Bishop for his presentation, and covered most of the 
ground that might have been taken by the Vicar of 
Abington, or other clerical critics, of such an appoint- 
ment. But this state of mind, induced by fears too 
little allowed, and helped by the kind things the 
Bishop had said in his letter, soon disappeared. There 
would be a great deal of criticism to meet, and they at 
least must not show themselves to be influenced by any 
of it. The Bishop had made the appointment of his 
own free will, and on grounds that seemed good to 
him. They had done nothing to urge him, nor had 
they pulled any strings. That was a great comfort 
to them now, and they gave themselves and one an- 
other considerable credit for it. Then they decided 
that they had better not say anything about the ap- 
pointment until Denis returned home. After all, the 
letter had been written to him, and the news could 
wait. This was their only reference to the fact of 
their having opened the letter, and they felt that it 
covered everything. 


A PRESENTATION 


49 


But as Denis did not arrive by the train that would 
have brought him home in time for lunch, and could 
not now be expected until six o’clock, the news began 
to sit heavily upon them. They had been busy indoors 
all the morning, and had had only to stifle the natural 
desire to tell the servants. In the afternoon they went 
about the parish, and could not forbear from encour- 
aging several with whom they had dealings by telling 
them that it was quite possible that they would not 
have to leave them after all. But as they had said this 
before, though not perhaps with the same satisfied 
look in their eyes, the secret was kept. 

They came home to tea, and now they longed for 
Denis’s return, for the news had burnt itself right 
through their lightly formed purpose, and only the 
hour or so that they would have to wait for him pre- 
vented their summoning all the servants, indoor and 
outdoor, and imparting to them their triumph. 

There came a ring at the bell, and presently Mr. 
and Mrs. Mercer were announced. Rhoda and Ethel 
cast a sharp and identical meaning glance at one an- 
other before they rose to receive them. It said as 
plain as if spoken: “ You won’t be able to keep it in.” 

Denis’s absence was explained and commented upon. 

“ I wanted to see him particularly,” said the Vicar. 
“ An old friend of mine, who has somewhat broken 
down in health, needs an assistant priest to go to him 
and do just the work that Denis has been doing here 
for your dear father. It would be the very place for 
him, if — if he were free to take it.” He mentioned the 


50 


THE GRAFTONS 


name of his friend, of the pretty village in Devonshire 
of which he was Rector, and the stipend offered, while 
Rhoda and Ethel listened politely with meaning smiles 
on their faces, and wondered how they could ever have 
liked this man. 

Mrs. Mercer saw the smiles, and though she did not 
understand their full import divined something of their 
source. “ Of course, dear,” she said, “ we know it is 
possible that Denis may be preferred to this living. 
In that case this offer would be of no use to him. 
We only thought that if he wasn't — ! And my hus- 
band hasn’t told you that there’s a charming little 
house, big enough for all three of you.” 

“ There was never really any chance of Denis’s 
appointment here,” said the Vicar, not without an- 
noyance. “ It was quite right to humour the poor old 
gentleman, as he so set his heart upon it; but Rhoda 
and Ethel are far too sensible to have any such ideas 
themselves ; and it would be wrong too.” 

Rhoda had once boasted that there was nothing of 
the cat in her, but she enquired very sweetly, “ And 
why wrong, Mr. Mercer? ” 

“ My dear girl,” said the Vicar, “ you know as well 
as I do. It would be a job, and Bishops dare not 
perpetrate jobs in these days. And if you are in- 
clined still to cherish hopes of that sort, as it is per- 
haps not altogether unnatural that you should, as 
you had to persuade your dear father of it for so 
long, let me tell you at once that the appointment has 
already been made, I am not at liberty to say in 


A PRESENTATION 51 

what quarter. But you will hear about it very 
soon.” 

It was Ethel who said, “ Oh, really, Mr. Mercer ! 
Did the Bishop tell you that himself? ” 

“ You never told me , Albert, when you came back 
from the Palace yesterday,” said Mrs. Mercer in an 
aggrieved voice. 

“ It was not the Bishop himself, of course,” said 
the Vicar. “ But I had it on the best authority. 
Please don’t ask me any more. The conversation was 
confidential.” 

“It wasn’t you it was offered to, dear, was it?” 
enquired his wife. “ No, I’m sure you would have told 
me that. I suppose Mr. Burgoyne must have told 
you.” Mr. Burgoyne was the Bishop’s chaplain. 

The Vicar, like most self-important but weak men, 
was incapable of keeping anything to himself under 
pressure, and when Rhoda said, as sweetly as before: 
“ If you’ve told us as much as that I think you might 
tell us who the living has been offered to. Secrets are 
absolutely safe with us,” he hummed and ha-ed, 
and then said : “ Well, Burgoyne did not actually ex- 
tract a promise from me to keep it to myself, but he 
gave me to understand,” — how grateful he was after- 
wards to have put it in that way — “ that Leadbetter 
was to have it. It would be an appointment not alto- 
gether free from criticism. I believe that Leadbetter 
has never held a parochial charge, but he has been 
Precentor of the Cathedral for a great many years, 
and if good livings are to be given in that sort of way, 


52 


THE GRAFTONS 


which personally I think they should not be, I don’t 
know that the Bishop can be greatly blamed for giving 
it to him.” 

“ I think they should be given to men who have 
borne the burden and heat of the day in the poorer 
livings,” said Mrs. Mercer with a sigh, for she had 
been encouraged to hope, and the hope was now dead. 
She didn’t ask herself why her husband had left her 
for nearly twenty-four hours without telling her so. 
There were questions about him occasionally which 
she refrained from asking herself. She had asked him 
why he seemed so bent upon going over to Surley that 
afternoon, as they had previously decided to do some- 
thing else. She would have demurred to going if she 
had known that this piece of news was to be imparted 
to Rhoda and Ethel. 

The time had come to speak. “ Well, Mr. Mercer,” 
said Rhoda, “ either Mr. Burgoyne didn’t know what 
he was talking about, or else you misunderstood him. 
I don’t know what you mean by a job; I can’t see one 
in it myself, and I’m quite sure the Bishop wouldn’t 
be capable of such a thing ; but he has appointed Denis 
Rector of Surley, and in my opinion, a very good ap- 
pointment it is.” 

“ And in mine too,” said Ethel. She did not add 
more, because the most interesting thing to do at the 
moment was to watch the Vicar’s face. 

There was no room for incredulity, with the an- 
nouncement made in that fashion. He could only 
stare. But the quality of his stare was such as to 


A PRESENTATION 53 

give Rhoda and Ethel almost as much gratification 
as they had drawn from the Bishop’s letter. 

It was a gratification, however, that was broken in 
upon at once, for Mrs. Mercer, when she had once 
taken in the announcement, was so beaming and so 
sincere in her congratulations that they had to be met 
in something of the same spirit, and the full flavour 
of the triumph was lost. 

The Vicar, also, when he had recovered himself, 
added his congratulations, and explained away as far 
as possible his previous unfortunate expressions; ex- 
plained also that Mr. Burgoyne’s assumption had been 
so near to being a direct statement that he must 
have been mistaken himself as to the Bishop’s inten- 
tions. He was listened to with the utmost politeness, 
but was shown that he had not quite succeeded in 
wiping away the mark made by the word ‘ job,’ and 
was left with the impression that if he was not very 
careful he would hear more of it. 

He was not in fact able altogether to hide his 
chagrin, although he knew well that he w r as affording 
satisfaction in showing it. He took his wife awa}' as 
soon as politeness permitted, and what he said to her 
on the way home did not add to her happiness in the 
stroke of good fortune that had come to her friends. 

Rhoda and Ethel loudly, and almost indecently, ex- 
ulted the moment their backs were turned. Really, it 
was too transparent. The man had got over his dis- 
appointment at having his own absurd hopes dispelled, 
and had come with no other purpose thaij to crow" 


54 


THE GRAFTONS 


over them. She had let that out. Fancy not saying a 
word to her about it ! She was a good little thing 
herself, and had really meant it when she had said she 
was pleased. She was worth a dozen of him, with his 
conceit and his spite. Thank goodness there were not 
many clergymen like him in the Church. That sort of 
spirit did more harm to religion than any other. It 
would really be almost better to have an evil-liver in a 
parish. Fancy ever thinking that the Bishop could 
be taken in by him! He knew better than that , at any 
rate. It had been a most painful exhibition, and the 
sooner it was forgotten the better. 

It gave them something to talk about until Denis 
came home, when they both flew at him with the 
news, Rhoda brandishing the Bishop’s letter. Questions 
as to what he had been doing, and why he hadn’t let 
them know, could wait. 

Denis’s surprised displeasure at their action in open- 
ing the letter took them aback. In their eagerness 
to impart the news they had forgotten that there was 
anything irregular in the way they had obtained it. 
They were not accustomed to accept criticism from 
their brother, but whatever excuses may be made to 
one’s self for opening letters addressed to somebody 
else, when there is strong curiosity to be satisfied, 
the doing so wears a different aspect when the excuses 
have to be made to that somebody else. Denis listened 
gravely to what they had to say, and then went off to 
his study, and his gravity and silence had this much 
effect that they did not follow him there, as they 


A PRESENTATION 5^ 

would have thought themselves justified in doing in 
almost any other circumstances. 

Nor did they see him again until they all three 
met in the drawing-room before dinner. 

By that time the effect upon him of their well-meant 
action might have been expected to have worn off, 
and they were ready to talk it all over in the way 
he should have been prepared to do when they had 
first told him. Really, he looked quite like a Rector 
already, standing up before the fire in his silk waist- 
coat, with a look of self-possession and dignity that 
gave them a new idea of him. Perhaps they felt, as 
they came in together and saw him standing there, 
that he was, after all, the source from which the im- 
portance that was still happily to be theirs was to be 
drawn, and that the manner in which they had hitherto 
borne themselves towards him might have to be altered 
in some respects. 

Rhoda dropped a curtsey, and said : 44 Homage 
to the Rector of Surley ” ; and Ethel followed 
suit. 

Denis did not smile. 44 Have you told anybody of 
the Bishop’s offer? ” he said. 

Rhoda drew herself together. It was time this 
rebellious spirit was crushed. 44 My dear boy,” she 
said, 44 if you are still nursing a grievance at our hav- 
ing opened the Bishop’s letter, which, after all, con- 
cerns us as much as it does you, do please get rid of it. 
It isn’t a pretty spirit. You have already shut your- 
self up for nearly two hours, in which we might have 


56 


THE GrR AFTONS 


been talking of the good thing that has happened; 
and surely that is enough.” 

He repeated his question. 44 Have you told anybody 
of the offer? ” 

44 We told nobody,” said Ethel, 44 as the letter was 
written to you, until Mr. and Mrs. Mercer called this 
afternoon. He had got it into his head that the living 
had been offered to Mr. Leadbetter, and came over 
with no other purpose than to tell us that, and see how 
we should take it. He hadn’t even told his wife. When 
he had crowed over us enough, of course we had to 
tell him.” 

46 It would have been impossible to have kept 
it to ourselves without acting a lie,” added 
Rhoda. 

Denis considered this piece of information, and 
drew away from the fire. 44 I’m very sorry you told 
him,” he said, with his face half averted from them. 
44 1 have already written to refuse the Bishop’s offer. 
I don’t feel myself equal yet to the responsibilities of a 
parish. I want to do some years’ hard work in a town 
first.” 

After a pause of consternation and incredulity, 
both sisters set on him at once. How could he pos- 
sibly have made such a decision? It was really too 
outrageous. And without giving them the slightest 
warning ! Couldn’t he trust the Bishop to know and do 
what was right? Why on earth hadn’t he taken their 
advice before doing such a thing? 

All the scandalised surprise came back to that, and 


A PRESENTATION 57 

it was the first thing he answered, when the flood of 
speech showed signs of abating. 

44 I didn’t tell you,” he said, 46 because I didn’t think 
there was any chance of the offer being made to me, 
and I wanted to avoid this sort of discussion.” 

Dinner was announced at that moment, and further 
discussion had to be put off until the parlour-maid 
had left them to themselves and their food for a 
time. The interval had been spent in almost complete 
silence, all three of them nerving themselves for what 
was to come. 

All three began to speak at the same time, when the 
maid had shut the door behind her; but it was Denis 
who continued his speech, his sisters relinquishing theirs 
to listen to him. 

44 You ought not to make this difficult for me,” he 
said. 44 1 made up my mind long ago, and I’m sure 
I was right to do it. I didn’t want to tell our dear 
father, because his ideas on these things were old-fash- 
ioned, and I don’t think he could have seen it in its 
true light. But you ought to be able to. I’m very 
sorry for your own disappointment, but you ought 
to be able to judge a matter like this on higher 
grounds.” 

This speech gave them plenty of material, and the 
sharp attack was renewed. How could he say such 
a wicked thing about their dear father! And the 
idea of accusing them of thinking about themselves 
in that worldly way ! He must know very w'ell that all 
their thoughts had been for him, and for the good of 


58 


THE GRAFTONS 


the parish in which they had worked nearly all their 
lives. Please drop that unworthy charge, if he could 
not see it all in its proper light yet. 

There was plenty more of it, and he sat silent and 
flushed under the attack. But so far it had only 
stiffened him. 

It is difficult for a domineering woman to relinquish 
the weapons which temperament thrusts into her hands, 
but they came to see that they could not move him 
by censure, and they descended to argument, as a half- 
way house to reasoning, but not without showing an- 
noyance that they were forced to do so. 

Surely the Bishop must know better than he what 
was the right thing to do in a matter like this! 
Wouldn’t it be almost an impertinence to throw the 
offer back in his face? He could see that , couldn’t he? 
And it was not only the Bishop ; it was the dying wish 
of their dear father, which really it was preposterous 
to set aside as merely old-fashioned. And they had 
no doubt about its being the right thing to accept, 
whatever their opinion might be worth. Did he really 
feel justified in going against the opinions of people 
so much older and wiser than himself? 

This was rather more difficult to meet. They were 
considerations that he had spent much anxious thought 
over, during the long hour that he had spent by him- 
self. And he could not yet be quite certain that he 
had solved them in the right way, though he had 
conscientiously followed the light that was in him. 
Also, his sisters had established a considerable author- 


A PRESENTATION 59 

ity over him, and he was uncomfortable in withstand- 
ing them. 

But he won through this stage, the contest being oc- 
casionally broken into by the intrusions of the maid, 
and the intervals being spent in bringing up more am- 
munition for the guns of argument. 

He could only decide such a matter on his own con- 
science, which had given him a strong leading. He 
was quite sure that the Bishop would respect his de- 
cision. Couldn’t they accept it now as having been 
made, and help him in looking forward and preparing 
for the new work he had undertaken? 

This plea seemed to show a slight weakening. They 
drew from him the admission that his letter of refusal 
had not yet been posted, and set themselves ardently 
to induce him to reconsider it. Under the violence of 
the attack he seemed to waver, though the streak of 
obstinacy in him, almost more than the weight of his 
convictions, was all the time stiffening him under the 
appearance of indecision, which was only the result of 
not being able to find immediate answers to each and 
all of their arguments. 

The battle moved its scene from the dining-room to 
the drawing-room, and raged with varying degrees 
of heat until it was nearly time for family prayers. 
It flared up hotly when Denis told them that he had 
spent the night with the Vicar of the London parish 
of whom he had already accepted a curacy ; for he had 
to admit that he had been in negotiation about it for 
some time, and they pointed out to him with some truth 


60 


THE GRAFTONS 


that if he had told them of this, instead of keeping it 
himself as if it were a shameful secret, all the present 
trouble would have been avoided. And was it possible 
that he had said nothing to the Bishop about it, when 
he had had that long talk with him, and he had been so 
kind ? 

In their offence at having been kept in the dark 
themselves, they had not at once fastened upon this, 
the weakest of all places in the young man’s armour. 
Why had he not told the Bishop, in that talk in which 
the announcement of such a decision would only have 
drawn the kindest sympathy and the wisest advice? 
He had asked himself that question many times during 
the hour he had spent by himself battling with his 
temptation, and there had been no answer to it for 
which he could take any credit to himself. 

For the temptation of the world, as represented by 
the Rectory of Surley, had been almost overwhelming, 
and although he had set in hand his arrangements 
under the belief that there was little likelihood of its 
being offered to him, he had not had the courage to 
make the offer impossible. He had set out to burn 
his boats by entering into correspondence with the 
London Vicar, but he had not been able to bring him- 
self to apply the match, and it is doubtful if he would 
have done so later if he had not spent that evening 
with the devoted priest who had fired his spiritual am- 
bition afresh. Coming down in the train he had re- 
proached himself greatly for his vacillation, and his 
boats had flared up behind him in a most illuminating 


A PRESENTATION 


61 


conflagration. He reproached himself unsparingly for 
having, as he now saw, desired to gain from, the 
Bishop’s views defence for a young man’s burying 
himself at the outset of his career in a comfortable 
country living, instead of trying to gain from him 
support for his higher ambitions. But he could not 
disguise from himself that his lack of frankness must 
appear most blameworthy to the man to whom in such 
a talk he had owed frankness above all things, and 
indeed, as he blushed hotly to think, simulated it. 

Well, he had committed a grave fault, and must 
abide its consequences in lessened estimation of him 
by the man with whom he would have liked to stand 
well. But to disguise the fault by taking a reward 
for it would not help matters, and was an act which, 
in the sensitive state of conscience he had reached, 
would be impossible to him. The very fact that he 
had led the Bishop to imagine that he would be ready 
to accept the responsibilities and emoluments of Surley 
now prevented his doing so, more than any other 
fact. 

But it may be imagined how much of this his sis- 
ters were able to accept, in their state of irritation 
and anger against him. They could only see the in- 
excusable fault, and it seemed to them the strongest 
reason yet advanced why he should obey their urg- 
ing. 

The poor badgered young man rose from his seat 
of purgation, saying that it was nearly time for pray- 
ers, but that he would rather not conduct them to- 


62 THE GRAFTONS 

night, not feeling in tune for them, and would go to 
his study. 

Then they fell upon him for wanting to avoid the 
very thing that would most help him to come to a 
right decision, and pointed out how very wrong his 
ideas must be since he could not even face his devo- 
tions. 

So the servants were summoned, and he read and 
prayed before his household, and gained some solace 
and support from doing so. 

When prayers were over he said, in a quieter voice 
than they had permitted him to use during the greater 
part of the contest, that he could not discuss the 
question any more. If he had done wrong, as he knew 
he had, he was now going to do right, and his letter 
of refusal would be sent to the Bishop the next 
morning. 


CHAPTER V 


THE SYSTEM 

Except where his feelings were deeply involved, as 
they had been in that matter of Beatrix’s affair 
with the Marquis de Lassigny, George Grafton was a 
man who exercised authority with an easy grace which 
those who came within its sphere scarcely realised as 
authority, so much did his wishes seem to comply with 
their own. His family appeared to possess and to 
exercise complete liberty of action, and he to fall in 
with their wishes as much as they with his. But this 
was because they all loved one another, and they had 
kept him young between them. If any of them wanted 
to do anything that he did not care about, he had 
only to say that he didn’t care about it, and they not 
only didn’t do it, but didn’t want to do it, because 
there was nothing so well worth doing as pleasing him. 
This was in small matters; but there had never been 
any big difference of desire, except in Beatrix’s affair, 
which he had not handled with his wonted easy de- 
tachment. But in the way that had turned out he had 
proved to have been in the right, in a good many ways 
which she had not been able to see, and now did see; 
and his treatment of her during her recovery from 
love’s illness had restored his happy ascendancy, some- 
what shaken while the illness had lain heavily upon 
her. 


0 ? 


64 


THE GRAFTONS 


With his servants and dependants there was never 
any trouble at all. They liked serving him, and took 
a pride in serving him well. In business it was the 
same; but on the rare occasions on which he had had 
to assert his authority he had done it with a decision 
that showed his customary easy manner to rest upon 
strength, and not upon a weak complaisance. 

In business negotiation he usually had his way, be- 
cause he had always made up his mind beforehand 
what his way was to be, and that it was reasonable that 
he should have it. By this means he missed the coups 
that come from imposing unreasonable conditions on 
an opponent, but gained a reputation for fairness and 
straightness of dealing which made up for it. 

He was, in fact, a man of decision and character, 
under his amiable easy-going exterior, and he was 
not afraid of a contest, though he preferred not to 
enter one unless he thought he had a good chance of 
coming out victor. 

It is doubtful, however, whether he had ever en- 
tered into one which would provide such a test of his 
qualities, as when he decided to get rid of the Vicar 
of Abington — the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, M.A. 

This was after the commotion occasioned by Denis 
Cooper’s refusal of the living of Surley had died 
down. 

The commotion had been considerable, and a good 
deal of it had been created by the Vicar of Abington, 
who really had nothing to do with it at all. Denis 
had now departed to his curacy in the East End of 


THE SYSTEM 


65 


London, and his sisters had betaken themselves to the 
Cathedral City of Medchester, where they had many 
friends, or at least acquaintances, and their activities 
could be made use of for the general benefit of their 
fellow church-people. Mr. Leadbetter had been insti- 
tuted Rector of Surley, and it was beginning to be 
known that he had refused the Bishop’s offer of the 
living before it had been made to Denis, but had 
thought better of it on going over to Surley, and 
finding that the little church, otherwise undistinguished, 
possessed a remarkable roof for sound. He was a 
bachelor, with plenty of money of his own, besides 
what would come to him from his rectorate, and in- 
tended to provide a new organ, and to train a small 
but exquisite choir to render a full musical service, 
after the manner of Cathedrals and College Chapels, 
twice a day. 

Grafton unfolded his resolve to Worthing, over the 
dinner table, when the girls and Miss Waterhouse 
had left them to their cigars. 

66 I’m going to get rid of Mercer,” he said. “ The 
fellow has become an infernal nuisance, and I’m tired 
of him.” 

Worthing stared at him, and laughed. i6 You can’t 
do it,” he said. “ I thought you knew better than that. 
You’re the patron of the living, and you appoint a 
man when it becomes vacant. But once appointed he 
sticks there till he chooses to go. You’ve nothing 
more to do with it than anybody else.” 

“ Oh, I know all that. When I say I’m going to get 


66 


THE GRAFTONS 


rid of him, I don’t mean that I’ve got the power to turn 
him out. But you can do a good many things that 
you haven’t got that sort of power over, if you go the 
right way to work.” 

“ Well, I don’t care much about Mercer myself, 
though I’ve always tried to keep my opinion dark 
for the sake of peace. He’s a tiresome fellow, and 
that’s a fact; but he’s never done anything that he 
could be shifted for. It takes a Bishop all he knows, 
and a devil of a lot of money besides, to get rid of 
an incumbent who’s a real wrong ’un. There was a 
case over at Minbrook when I first came here.” 

“ I know that too. But to my mind a quarrelsome 
back-biting fellow like Mercer does more harm in a 
community like this than many a man who kicks over 
the traces in a way to give a handle against himself.” 

“ I quite agree with you there,” said Worthing, 
allowing himself to be diverted to this question of the 
welfare of a community, which he had much at heart. 
“ I’m glad you take that view of it. It’s the right 
view for a landholder to take, in my opinion. It’s 
up to us who are runninng a place like this to keep 
people contented and happy. It’s the human side, as 
I often tell young Bradby. You’ve got to be just 
in your dealings, but there are lots of little points where 
the law seems to give you an unfair advantage. I don’t 
say it does, but it seems to, in the way things are 
looked at now, with all this Radicalism about. You 
can run things all right on the old system if you bring 
goodwill to bear, and remember the people you’re deal- 


THE SYSTEM 


67 


in g with aren’t any different to what you are yourself. 
It seems to me that’s the best thing about the old 
system — the human contact between all parties con- 
cerned.” 

“ Well, the parson of a village ought to be the one 
above all others who makes that contact. What’s he 
there for otherwise? ” 

“ I agree with that too. I’m a good churchman, 
and all that, and of course the religious side of it is 
important. But to my mind it’s more important still 
that he should be the friend of all his people, rich and 
poor alike, so that they can go to him for anything, 
and find a friend in him.” 

“ That is the religious side of it, isn’t it? ” 

“ I suppose it ought to be. But the parsons now-a- 
days seem to want to run a country parish as they 
would a town one. We don’t see much of it hereabouts, 
except with Brill, and he’s kept in order by Lady 
Mansergh. Brill’s a nice kind-hearted fellow too, and 
if it wasn’t for all that high falutin’ church business, 
and changing all the services from what they’ve been 
accustomed to, and shoving them off their perches 
generally, he’d do as well as any country parson. 
Take a man like Williams. He’s a good deal more 
interested in his dogs and his carpentering than he is 
in his church services, I should say. I don’t want to 
hold him up as a perfect example, but he’s the friend 
of all his parishioners. Beckley’s a close-fisted land- 
lord, and doesn’t get on particularly well with his ten- 
ants. But Williams often does them a good turn with 


68 THE GRAFTONS 

him. He’s a human sort of fellow. That’s what I 
like about Williams.” 

“ And that’s just what Mercer isn’t.” 

Worthing had rather forgotten about Mercer, and 
his inclination to make the best of people and give 
everybody a chance was strong in him. He frowned 
slightly. “ He’s cantankerous,” he said. “ I can’t 
deny that.” 

“ Yes, he’s cantankerous, and a good many other 
things besides. There’s hardly a soul round about — 
of our sort, I mean — that he hasn’t fallen out with. 
When I first came here he warned me against the whole 
lot of them, without exception.” 

“Did he? Well, he oughtn’t to have done that. I 
don’t believe you’d find a nicer lot of people, take ’em 
all round, anywhere in England.” 

“ That’s what you told me, on the same day as 
he’d said the opposite, and I’m more inclined to your 
opinion than his. Then he makes trouble in the 
place itself. My girls and Miss Waterhouse are find- 
ing that out constantly. There’s always a lot of 
quarrelling going on, and if you follow it up you 
generally find he has had a finger in the pie.” 

“ Well, I can’t deny that either. I’ve often had to 
smooth over things that he has put wrong. He is a 
tiresome fellow, and there’s no denying it. It would 
certainly be a good thing for the parish if he were got 
rid of. Still he hasn’t done anything that he could be 
got rid of for, and I don’t see how you’re going to bring 
it about.” 


THE SYSTEM 


69 


“ I’m going to ask him to go.” 

Worthing stared and laughed again. u I should like 
to be there when you do it,” he said. 

“ I don’t think you would. If you thought I was 
getting the better of him you’d want to take his part. 
That’s what you’re made like.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know about that. But I do like to 
keep the peace.” 

“ If we can persuade Mr. Mercer to take himself off, 
I hope we shall get somebody here who’ll help you. 
We’d better go up to the girls now. They’ll be want- 
ing their bridge.” 

When the Yicar walked up to the Abbey the next 
morning in answer to Grafton’s note requesting an 
interview, it was with anticipations not unpleasurable. 
Somehow, he had never succeeded in gaining the foot- 
ing of intimacy with his chief parishioners that he felt 
to be his due. It was even some weeks now since he 
had been invited to the house, and he had felt ag- 
grieved about it, because in his position he ought to 
have been the most frequent guest at the only other 
house in the place occupied by such people as himself. 

It had not always been so. On the Graftons’ first 
arrival he had felt himself free to run in and out of 
the house on the most intimate terms, and had always 
been sure of a welcome, as was only right and proper. 
It had begun to steal over him lately, in wafts of cold 
suspicion, which he had put away from him whenever 
they approached, that his welcome had perhaps never 
been quite so warm as he had taken for granted, He 


70 


THE GRAFTONS 


had also begun to suspect that certain criticisms he 
had passed upon the Graf tons — of course without 
meaning anything by them — might have come to their 
ears, and accounted for the cessation of invitations, 
to lunch and to dine, which had never failed even after 
the running in and out showed itself to be not quite 
what they wanted. Rut this suspicion had stiffened 
him against them. If they proved themselves difficult 
to get on with, as so many people in this part of the 
world unfortunately did, he was not the man to give 
in to them. He had his own position of dignity and 
responsibility and would take his stand unflinchingly 
upon that. It was the duty of a Squire and a parson 
to keep on good terms with one another for the sake 
of example, especially when the people of a parish 
were so quarrelsome and difficult to manage as they 
were at Abington. He had done all he could to bring 
that happy state of things about. If the other party 
was blind to the advantages, nay to the Christian duty, 
of such an understanding, then he must pursue his 
course unflinchingly apart. On no account would he 
knuckle under, and debase his sacred profession. 

Still, he had no wish to quarrel, and it was some- 
what of a relief to be asked to a consultation with 
Grafton, no doubt upon some measure of importance 
in connection with the parish. There had been far 
too little of that co-operation. A Squire might do 
so much to help a parson in his devoted labours for 
the good of the community, and Grafton had done so 
little, though on Ills first coming the Vicar had had 


THE SYSTEM 


71 


strong hopes that here was at last a man who would 
back him up, in his spiritual duties, as he in his turn 
was only too anxious to give help and advice, in all 
matters, in return. 

But in spiritual matters he had even been denied 
what was undoubtedly his due. Grafton had not even 
come to church regularly, nor put pressure on his 
household to do so. The last was inexcusable. The 
Vicar could make allowances for a man in Grafton’s 
position who worked in London, though not very regu- 
larly, and looked upon his days in the country as holi- 
days. But his servants ought to be made to come to 
church. The Vicar had felt so strongly about this 
that he had once told Grafton so, and pointed out that 
he himself was always there in fair weather or foul. 
Grafton had said that most of his servants did attend 
church regularly, and none of them kept away alto^ 
gether, and had not been able to see that that was not 
the point. And pressed to exercise his authority he 
had refused to do so. 

Then there was that point of Barbara’s confirmation. 
Miss Waterhouse had asked him the previous year 
whether he should be holding confirmation classes, 
and he had said that he should, for the Advent con- 
firmation, but only for the young people of the vil- 
lage, and that of course Barbara could not be ex- 
pected to attend them. He had offered, at the sacri- 
fice of his own valuable time to prepare Barbara for 
confirmation by herself, and Miss Waterhouse had 
thanked him, but had put the matter off. Then when 


72 


THE GRAFTONS 


the time had drawn near, and he had raised the ques- 
tion, he had been told that Barbara would not be con- 
firmed that year at all. They would be in London after 
Christmas and she would be confirmed in the spring, 
at the church where her sisters had been. But they 
had not moved to London after Christmas, and Bar- 
bara had not been confirmed. He had asked about it 
and received an evasive answer. 

He was thinking of this, and getting nettled about 
it, as he walked through the park to the Abbey, when 
it suddenly occurred to him that this was probably 
what Grafton wanted to see him about. Well, if it 
was, that would put a good many things right. He 
would pocket the offence that he had felt and had 
been right in feeling, at having had his offer treated 
in the fashion it had been, and would renew it. Bar- 
bara was a very interesting child — she was seventeen, 
and ought to have been confirmed long ago — and he 
would enjoy his talks with her. By the time he 
reached the house he was convinced that it was Bar- 
bara’s religious education that Grafton wished to see 
him about. 

He was received in the long, low library, with its 
ranks of mellow russet books which no one ever read, 
its raftered ceiling, and its latticed windows. It was 
the room which Grafton called his, but seldom used 
except for business purposes or when men were stay- 
ing in the house. He was writing at a table at the 
far end of the room when the Vicar was announced, 
and came forward to greet him at once with his pleas- 


THE SYSTEM 73 

ant friendly air. It was no part of his intention to, 
antagonise him. 

The Vicar began the conversation. 44 I wondered, 
as I came up,” he said in his pompous but would-be- 
intimate manner, 44 whether it was about Barbara’s 
confirmation you wanted to talk to me. She really 
ought to have been confirmed last year, and the in- 
tention was that she should be this spring, wasn’t it? 
There will be a confirmation either here or at Feltham 
later on in the year, and I shall be very pleased to 
prepare her for it if you wish it. I could come here 
once or twice a week, or she could come to me, which- 
ever you preferred.” 

Grafton was about to refuse, rather shortly, when 
he bethought himself. 

44 Are you going to have a confirmation class?” he 
asked. 

44 Oh, yes. But I shouldn’t expect her to attend 
that. It’s for the boys and girls of the village. There 
are one or two farmers’ daughters this year, but no- 
body of the same class as Barbara. You couldn’t — ” 

44 What has class got to do with it? ” Grafton inter- 
rupted him. 44 1 should have thought in a matter like 
that everybody was equal.” 

44 Oh, well, if you take it like that ! ” said the Vicar. 
44 1 think so, of course, but — ” 

44 What should you teach her? ” asked Grafton. 

44 What should I teach her? ” He seemed somewhat 
at a loss. 44 1 shouldn’t teach her any Roman doc- 
trine, if that’s what you’re thinking of. Good Prayer 


74 


THE GRAFTONS 


Book doctrine, you know. At confirmation you take 
upon yourself the vows that others have made for you 
in your Baptism. You’ll find it all in the Prayer 
Book. Careful preparation deepens the spiritual life, 
at a time when the young soul is at its most malleable, 
and open to religious impressions. It is a very 
blessed opportunity.” 

He spoke with unction. Grafton looked as if he 
were suffering from a slight nausea. “ I don’t care 
a bit about doctrine,” he said. “ I do believe in Chris- 
tianity, and I think I recognise its spirit when I see it. 
I see it in my daughter Caroline. She hasn’t a thought 
in her head that isn’t sweet and good. She never 
thinks of herself when there’s anybody else to think of. 
She does everybody good all round her, by just being 
herself.” 

The Yicar rather enjoyed theological discussion. 
“ That’s an interesting point of view,” he said. “ And 
a very natural one. I admire Caroline myself — enor- 
mously. But I should say hers was a natural good- 
ness. Very beautiful, of course, and something to 
thank God for; but not of itself religious.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Perhaps I should say not of itself Christian. You 
may observe the same sort of goodness in people who 
don’t follow the Christian religion — in Buddhists and 
so forth. In the Christian religion we are taught to 
look for Grace, and — ” 

“ Oh, well, grace or goodness — it’s the same thing. 
I won’t go on with this; I didn’t ask you to be good 


THE SYSTEM 


75 


enough to come and see me to talk about Barbara’s 
confirmation. I shouldn’t want you to prepare her. 
It’s yourself I want to talk about. You’re not very 
comfortable here at Abington, are you? You don’t 
care for the people round you, and you find it difficult 
to get on with the villagers.” 

The Yicar’s mouth opened. “ I don’t understand 
you,” he said. 

“I know that as patron of this living I’ve no sort of 
authority over the man who holds it, or anything of 
that sort; but I might be able to ease the wheels a 
bit if you saw your way to exchanging it for another. 
I believe such things are done. I don’t know whether 
you’ve ever thought about it.” 

The Vicar was still at a loss. “ The living is cer- 
tainly not much of a prize,” he said, with a laugh. 
“It couldn’t be held except by a man with private 
means of his own — considerable private means. If 
you had any idea of raising the endowment — ” 

“ Well, I might do that — or add to the income, or 
whatever it might be, for a man who could make him- 
self happy here, and get on with us all. I won’t beat 
about the bush, Mercer. You seem to have got at 
loggerheads with everybody here, and it’s no more 
comfortable for us than it is for you. You haven’t 
fallen out with us yet, but I can’t help feeling it may 
come any time. If I could do anything to make it 
easy for you to get away from a place where you 
don’t find congenial society, we could part on good 
terms now, and it might save trouble in the future.” 


76 


THE GRAETONS 


The Vicar now understood that the proposal was 
not to raise the endowment of the living for his own 
benefit. He had not yet grasped the fact that he was 
being invited to quit. 

“ I can only say that if you and I fall out it won’t 
be my fault,” he said. “ It’s quite true that the peo- 
ple round here — your sort of people, I mean — are a 
cantankerous lot.” 

“ Well, I don’t find them so, Mercer. I don’t find 
them so.” 

He did not like being contradicted in this resolute 
fashion. “ I’m afraid we must agree to differ on that 
point then,” he said stiffly. 

“ It’s the whole point, Mercer. It isn’t only one or 
two you’ve managed to fall out with; that might hap- 
pen to anybody, though if sensible people manage to 
fall out with their neighbours they generally manage 
to fall in again sooner or later. It’s the whole lot. 
When we first came here you warned me against every 
single family about here we were likely to make friends 
with, except two. And you’ve fallen out with them 
since.” 

He now understood that he was being brought to 
book, and he liked that less than anything. He grew 
red and gobbled like a turkey cock before he spoke. 

“ This is a most unwarrantable attack,” he said. 
“ Did you ask me to come here to receive a lecture 
from you, Mr. Grafton?” 

“ I asked you to come here to see if we couldn’t 
come to some mutual understanding that needn’t re- 


THE SYSTEM 


77 


fleet upon you if we can do so. My reasons for 
wanting a change made are likely to be painful to you, 
I know, and probably surprising as well. But I must 
state them if anything is to come of it. So I do so 
as directly as possible. If you’ll accept them, and 
talk it over on the grounds that I should like a change 
made, so much the better. Then we needn’t go over 
the reasons any more.” 

“ You’d like a change made.” He understood it 
now, and summoned all his powers of resistance, and 
resentment. “ And you really think, Mr. Grafton, 
that because you’ve bought this property, and live in 
the biggest house on it, you can order things in that 
way. Let me tell you that there is one house in this 
parish that you have not bought, and that is my humble 
Vicarage. You have no more right to dispose of that 
than you have of — of the Bishop’s Palace at Med- 
chester. You — ” 

“ Can’t we talk over things reasonably, Mercer? If 
I thought I had that sort of power, I should make 
some attempt to exercise it, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t 
be asking you if we can’t come to some understand- 
ing.” 

“ And what understanding on such a subject is pos- 
sible, I should like to know. You want me to go; 
that’s the plain truth of the matter. Do you think 
I’m not a fit person to exercise my duties here, may 
I ask? ” 

Grafton was silent, with a silence that was signifi- 
cant. 


78 


THE GRAFTONS 


There was a drop in the temperature. “ For my own 
satisfaction this must be cleared up,” said the Vicar, 
speaking with dignified restraint. “ If you have any 
charges to bring against me I must know what they 
are, so that I can meet them in the open.” 

“ There are no charges, Mercer, to be met in that 
way. I’ve told you already why I should like a 
change made, if you can bring yourself to consider it. 
It isn’t only the people of our own sort, as you say, 
that you don’t get on with. You’re at loggerheads 
with half your parishioners at one time or another. 
My girls are always coming across it, wherever they 
go. They’re keen — Caroline is especially — to make 
friends with the people in the place, and for us who 
live here in a certain relation with them to do what 
we can for them. It’s one of the pleasures of land- 
holding to be given that sort of opportunity. We’ve 
all of us come to see that. I believe we should be as 
happy and contented a community as you’d find any- 
where, if — well, if it weren’t for you, Mercer. I don’t 
want to be offensive, but that’s what it comes to.” 

The Vicar was trembling with anger. “ But this 
is outrageous,” he exclaimed. 

“ Oh, I don’t think so,” said Grafton easily. “ I’ve 
no wish to offend you, but it seems to me that the state 
of things I want here is worth taking that risk for. 
I tell you plainly that you seem to me such a difficulty 
in the way of it that if you go on here I can’t continue 
to offer you the friendship of myself and my family. 
In ordinary life, if a man you know is continually 


THE SYSTEM 


79 


acting in a way you don’t like, you drop his acquaint- 
ance, or if it’s necessary you fight him. I don’t want 
to fight you, and I don’t suppose you want to fight me. 
I’ve said enough to show you that I’ve reasons which 
seem to me important for wanting to come to the 
understanding with you that I’ve indicated. I don’t 
want to argue about them, or to push them in. They’re 
there. I’ll ask you to think over what I’ve said. 
Anything I can do to make it advantageous and agree- 
able to you to find some other place to work in, I 
will do ; and if you decide to go, well, as far as people 
outside will be able to see, you and we will part as 
friends, and you’ll be going, of course, of your own 
free will.” 

He rose from his chair, and the Vicar rose at the 
same time. He had an enormous amount to say, but 
found it difficult to say it as Grafton walked down the 
long room, opened the door for him, and accompanied 
him through the dining-room into the hall. 

“ It wants thinking over, I know,” said Grafton, 
taking no notice of his beginnings of sentences. “ You 
can’t decide this sort of thing in a hurry. If you and 
Mrs. Mercer will come and dine with us to-morrow 
night, you and I could have a friendly talk about it 
afterwards and see if there’s anything to be done. 
Caroline will write Mrs. Mercer a note.” 

The Vicar was on the doorstep, still striving for 
speech. Grafton said good-bye to him, and returned 
to the library. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 

Grafton didn’t tell Caroline to write her note of in- 
vitation to Mrs. Mercer until the next morning. It 
was sent to the Vicarage by hand, with instructions 
to the bearer to wait for an answer. 

Mrs. Mercer took it into her husband’s study. In 
the ordinary way she would have done this with some 
expression of gaiety and pleasure, for she took such 
variations of life as happy surprises, and could be 
moved to excitement even by an invitation to a flower- 
show, with a garden party attached. 

But this time her face did not light up as she opened 
and read the note, and only the thought of the wait- 
ing messenger sent her to her husband’s room at 
once. 

“ Here is an invitation from Caroline for us to dine 
at the Abbey to-night,” she said, with a grave face. 
“Do you wish me to accept it?” 

The Vicar was very busy. He looked up from his 
writing as if he could hardly detach his thoughts 
from what he was doing, and said: “ What is to-night? 
Thursday. There’s nothing on, I think. Yes, accept 
it.” Then he turned to his writing again. 

Mrs. Mercer wrote her answer and sent it out. When 
she had done so she sat with a thoughtful look upon 
her face fur some time, which gradually changed to 
gQ 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 81 

one of decision. Then she went in to her husband’s 
study again, and shut the door after her as if she 
meant to stay there. This was unusual. She was not 
made to feel herself welcome in that room in the 
morning hours. 

She was not to be made welcome now. The Vicar 
had left his writing-table and was walking up and down 
the room, with a look on his face that was not pleas- 
ant to see. It didn’t grow any more pleasant as he 
saw her shut the door behind her with that air which 
meant that she had something serious to say to him. 
“ My dear, you’re just interrupting me in a train 
of thought,” he said in an annoyed voice. “ If you 
want to talk about anything do please wait until lunch 
time, or at least until the post comes. I shall have a 
few minutes to spare then.” 

For answer she sat herself down in a high-backed 
chair which stood by the empty fireplace. “ Albert,” 
she said, “ I must speak to you. Things are wrong 
with us all round, and I am kept out of it all. If I 
am to be a true wife to you, and stand by your side 
in all the difficulties and troubles which come to us 
with the people round, I ought to know what is going 
on, and not be kept in the dark, as you always keep 
me.” 

Tears stood in the little lady’s eyes. She had been 
such a good loyal wife to him, putting all her money 
at his disposal, and allowing him to treat it as if it 
were his own, and even as if she ought to be thankful 
to him for the comfortable home that he could not have 


82 


THE GRAFTONS 


given her himself. She had never felt any disturbance 
of mind on that score, and did not feel any now. They 
were one, and hers was his. But for the trust and 
obedience she had given him, never questioning his 
wisdom, nor failing to take his side in the repeated 
disputes and estrangements that had come about be- 
tween them and their neighbours, he did owe her re- 
turn. The time had come when she could no longer go 
on putting her whole trust in him, if he did not show 
some corresponding trust in her. 

He stopped in his walking up and down, and stood 
before her, the arrogant frown and look on his face 
which she knew so well. But something now told her 
that she must not be awed into submission by it, as 
previously she had always been. 

“ Really, I don’t understand you,” he said. “ You 
must leave me to conduct my own affairs in my own 
way, as you have always done. You can help me in 
the difficulties I have in my work — and they are heavy 
enough, God knows, with the sort of people I have to 
deal with here — by giving me peace and quietness in 
my own home. You can help me in no other way. The 
troubles I have fall upon my own shoulders, and I 
am acting rightly by you in trying to keep you unaf- 
fected by them.” 

“ But they do not only fall upon you,” she said 
quietly. “ We make friends with people, and every- 
thing seems to be going happily*, and then suddenly we 
are not friends any longer. Often I have had to find 
it out for myself, and sometimes you don’t even tell 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 


83 


me what has happened to cause the change. It was 
so with the Beckleys. I have never known why we 
left off being friends with them. And I have never 
known why there was such disturbance before Mollie 
Walter was married. It would have been natural, as 
she was almost like your own daughter, as you so often 
used to say, that she should have been married from 
here, and that Mrs. Walter should have stayed on at 
the Cottage until after she was married. But her 
house at Wilborough was hurried on for her so that 
Mollie could be married from there, and you were not 
even asked to take part in the ceremony.” 

He had resumed his pacing of the room during the 
progress of this speech, and his look w r as not so arro- 
gant as it had been. 

“ I certainly don’t propose to go into old questions 
of that sort,” he said. “ They are over and done 
with, and — ” 

“ I don’t wish to go into them either,” she said. “ I 
didn’t press you to take me into your confidence then, 
and I won’t do it now. But I think you ought to tell 
me what has been the trouble with the Graf tons. You 
have criticised them from time to time, as you criticise 
everybody,” — he frowned at this sentence, which was 
unlike any she had ever used to him — “ but we have 
been on friendly terms with them for over a year. At 
first we were on very friendly terms with them, and you 
used to go to the Abbey in just the same way as you 
used to run in xnd out of Stone Cottage. They have 
always been as nice as possible to me, but I couldn’t 


84 * 


THE GRAFTONS 


help seeing that they were not as friendly towards you 
as they had been. When you left off going there in the 
intimate way you did at first, they still asked us to the 
house fairly often. But this invitation to dinner to- 
night is the first we have had from them for weeks.” 

He did not usually allow her to speak at this length 
without interrupting her, but when you are brought 
to book about anything it is as well to know exactly 
what you have to meet. It may not after all be so 
difficult to meet it as you had anticipated. 

It was with something like his customary tone that 
he said : “ We have often discussed the Graftons to- 
gether, and you know well enough that there are many 
things about them which I, as a priest of the Church, 
cannot approve of. If there has been any decline of 
intimacy between us it is for that reason and that 
reason alone. They are not what I thought they 
were when they first came here, and though in the 
position in which I stand towards them I must do my 
best to keep the peace for the good of the parish, I 
shall not surrender one jot or tittle of what I stand 
for here, for the sake of keeping in with the rich 
man of the parish.” 

It sounded very well to him, but she rather spoilt it 
bv asking in a quiet voice : “ What do you stand for 
here, Albert?” 

Whether or not the necessity of explaining to her 
the whole gist and meaning of the Ordination Service 
withheld him from replying to her at once, she had 
time to go on before he spoke. 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 


85 


“ I haven’t been able to prevent myself asking that 
question lately,” she said. “ I was very much trou- 
bled by the way you behaved ” — another phrase to 
which his ears were quite unaccustomed from her — 
“ about the Coopers. When you thought that the 
Bishop had offered Surley to Mr. Leadbetter you didn’t 
tell me anything about it, but you took me over there 
so that you might tell them , though you knew what 
disappointment it would bring them. Then when they 
told you that the living had been offered to Denis, you 
congratulated them, but you spoke in such a different 
way to me as we came home ; and you did your best 
to stir up trouble about it before you knew that 
Denis had refused the offer. And even when that did 
come out, you couldn’t give him any credit for what 
was a fine action on his part, as I think, but could 
only talk about the way his sisters were served right 
in doing what they had, and put it about what they 
had done, to discredit them.” 

The Vicar had in fact arrived at the conclusion that 
Rhoda and Ethel had opened the Bishop’s letter ad- 
dressed to their brother, which it is probable that no 
one else would have guessed at; and righteous indigna- 
tion at such an action had been his chief contribution 
to the talk that had resulted from the Bishop’s offer 
and its refusal. It was somewhat disturbing to find 
that his wife had not taken that indignation at its face 
value. He defended himself at some length against her 
charge of uncharity, but her silence and her downcast 
look warned him that he was not impressing her, and 


86 THE GRAFTONS 

as the ground was not of the strongest he relinquished 
it. 

“ But we will have an end to all this,” he said, catch- 
ing at his authority, so unexpectedly being ques- 
tioned. “ I can quite see that my silence as to the 
Graftons may have been misunderstood by you. The 
fact is that for months I have been coming to see that 
my position here will become impossible unless the 
Graftons refrain from meddling in affairs which are 
my concern and not theirs. I went down to the Abbey 
yesterday to have it out with Grafton once and for all. 
Either I must be allowed my own way here in matters 
which appertain to my office, and that must be defi- 
nitely understood, or else I must fight for it, and all 
pretence of intimacy and friendship must be aban- 
doned between us. Matters have come to a crisis. I 
found Grafton quite irreconcileable. He takes his 
stand, as a rich man of that type always does, upon 
his money.” 

“ Oh, Albert ! ” she exclaimed. 

“ I don’t mean to say, of course, that he mentions 
his money, but it comes down to that. He has bought 
this place, and imagines that he has bought all the peo- 
ple who live in it body and soul. I told him very 
plainly that he had not bought me, and that I was 
not for sale, and I flatter myself that I have given him 
something to think about. I was at first very angry, as 
you no doubt saw when I came home, but I have been 
thinking long and earnestly too. If you had not come 
in just now with a series of accusations which are really 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 87 

quite unjustified and exceptionally painful in the midst 
of a crisis of this sort, I should have told you in a 
very short time where my deliberations had led me. 
They are serious enough, and as you are concerned in 
the matter as well as myself, 1 should have consulted 
you before making any actual decision. But I feel that 
I can no longer go on here under such conditions. 
The work I have spent some of the best years of my 
life over is made of no avail, and to go on with it 
would only be to invite further failure. Better face 
all the distress of a complete break, and the expense 
of a move, and get away from the place. I had almost 
made up my mind to do that, and if you give me your 
concurrence I shall take the step without further 
hesitation. You know that when Sherlock sent the 
photograph of that charming little house at Darthead, 
which he was prepared to put at the disposal of any- 
body who would go and help him there, you said you 
wished we were in a position to go ourselves. Well, 
let us go, I say. It will mean some sacrifice of means, 
and I shall not be the ultimate authority at Darthead, 
as I have been here. But there will be less to keep 
up, and with an older man than he had anticipated 
getting, Sherlock would only be too glad to give a free 
hand. In fact he said that if he could get somebody 
whom he could thoroughly trust, he should try to get 
away for a year at least, and leave his curate in com- 
plete charge. Are you ready to make this new de- 
parture with me, Gertrude, and support me loyally 
in my reasons for making it? ” 


88 


THE GRAFTONS 


By the time he had come to the end of this speech, 
he had forgotten the beginning. But she had not, and 
a proposal that otherwise would have found her en- 
thusiastic, for she liked change, and the photograph 
of the house at Darthead had pleased her enormously, 
left her for the time unmoved. For his account of 
his interview with Grafton by no means tallied with 
certain facts in her own possession. 

His representation of himself as disapproving of 
the Graftons to such an extent that he had finally 
been forced to deliver an ultimatum was one of them. 
He had overwhelmed them with censure when he had 
thought he had anything to complain about, but any 
approach on their part to intimacy had always been 
responded to by him, and it was only when it showed 
signs of dropping again that he had reverted to his 
attitude of disapproval. That disapproval had cer- 
tainly increased during the last few months, in which 
the intimacy had been withheld, but he had shown 
himself almost delighted to receive Grafton’s note ask- 
ing him to come and see him, and had certainly not 
gone down to the Abbey with any idea of delivering 
an ultimatum. He had returned in what was almost 
a fury, and she had sat silent and depressed while he 
had covered the whole Grafton family with abuse, but 
had not told her anything of what the new trouble 
was about; nor had she asked him. And yet he had 
made no difficulty about her accepting Caroline’s in- 
vitation to dinner that evening. No doubt he had 
persuaded himself of the truth of what he was saying, 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 89 

even as he said it, as his way was. But it carried no 
conviction to her. 

“ I think,” she said quietly, “ that it would be better 
for us to go away from here if we cannot keep friends 
with any one about us.” 

Something warned him not to take exception to this 
speech, or to expatiate further upon the offences he 
had received. “ We can put all that behind us now,” he 
said. “ 1 have not been able to make headway against 
the forces arrayed against me here, and it will be better 
for us to start entirely afresh. There is no need to 
keep up any ill-feeling against even the Graftons. 
That is why we can dine with them to-night, on the 
old friendly terms. If I had not decided to leave the 
place we should have been obliged to refuse their 
invitation. I think you will find no unpleasantness 
there, if you do and say nothing to arouse it yourself. 
When they hear we are going, perhaps they may even 
be rather sorry. Whoever comes here after me — 
Grafton will have to find somebody himself, and I 
wish him luck of the job, for a living of this value — 
I don’t think he will easily find a more devoted parish 
priest than I have been, or a Vicar’s wife more ready 
to do her duty than you have been, my dear.” 

This tribute, thoroughly deserved but so rarely 
paid by him, did not bring instant grateful delighted 
response from her, as usually it would have done. Her 
eyes had been forced open, and could not be closed 
again by a careless word of compliment. She knew 
that even in his last speech he had not spoken the en- 


90 


THE GRAFTONS 


tire truth to her. His easy words, and his sudden 
changes, for which there was always a reason, but a 
reason that would not stand any test of sincerity, 
sounded different to her now. Would she ever be 
persuaded and convinced by them again? 

He hardly knew how much of truth and how much 
of falsehood there was in his words himself. Although 
he had played lightly with the idea of going to Dart- 
head — his friend had asked him if he knew of a curate, 
but it was not certain that he would accept the offer 
he would make of himself, or that he had not by this 
time found one — all his thoughts had been taken up 
with the fight he was going to have with Grafton. It 
was to have begun that very evening over Grafton’s 
dinner table, with a statement of exactly where he 
stood that should be unmistakeable. Yesterday he 
had been unprepared, but now he had his speeches 
ready; he had been rehearsing some of them when his 
wife had come in to him. Grafton would knuckle un- 
der; men of the Vicar’s temperament never allow for 
answers to the speeches they compose beforehand. 

He had not projected his mind clearly into the 
future, as to what should happen after he had gained 
his victory. Grafton had said that if he stayed 
on at Abington he should no longer treat him as a 
friend. Perhaps he imagined him so overcome by his 
defeat that he would hardly dare to hold aloof from 
him. Perhaps a little whisper of reason in a corner 
of his mind prepared him for that complete revulsion 
of feeling which came to him under his wife’s unex- 


THE VICAR’S DECISION 


91 


pected attack, and made him as eager to escape the 
contest, and to go, as a few minutes earlier he had 
been to engage in it and to stay on immoveable. 

He had hardly had time to gauge the importance 
of her change of attitude towards him. He had not 
been able to beat down her awkward enquiries into 
his conduct as previously he had always nipped the 
mildest of protests from her, and kept his dominance 
over her. But he was far from suspecting that his 
reign of unreason was over. She had gone farther in 
questioning, and even criticising him, than ever before, 
but he only had to treat her with a little more care to 
bring her to his feet again, accepting and for the most 
part admiring everything that he said or did. 

But another little whisper of caution from a corner 
of his mind warned him that he had better cut the 
knot of the difficulties which had at last aroused that 
spirit of revolt in her, get away from it all, and start 
afresh. His mind swung round instantly to a strong 
desire to get away from it all, and with credit to 
himself. Before he had finished the speech in which 
he broached his new-found intention to her, he saw 
himself leaving Abington with the warmly expressed 
regrets of his parishioners in his ears ; and, if the vision 
of an illuminated address and a handsome piece of plate 
did not present itself to him quite so early, it did later. 

The next morning Grafton went down to his Estate 
Office in the village to see Worthing. They had a little 
business to transact together. When it had been fin- 
ished Grafton said, “By the bye, the Mercers dined 


92 


THE GRAFTONS 


with us last night. They brought rather a surprising 
piece of news. Mercer has made up his mind that he 
has borne the heat and burden of the day in Abington 
long enough. He is going to retire, and live in Devon- 
shire — in a village where he can do a little clerical 
work for a friend.” 

Worthing stared at him open-mouthed, and then 
laughed heartily. “ By Jove, you’re a wonder,” he 
said. “ How did you do it?” 

“ How did I do what? I don’t know what you’re 
talking about. I’m telling you about Mercer. It’s a 
charming house they’re going to. Mrs. Mercer brought 
a photograph of it. Mercer doesn’t want to live in 
idleness. Though he’s borne the burden and heat of 
the day in this humming hive of population, he still 
feels he has a few more years of work in him for the 
good of the community. He isn’t going to be a curate 
exactly ; he’s going to help his friend, if he doesn’t fall 
out with him — but he didn’t say that.” 

“ Is he really going, or are you pulling my leg? ” 

“Why should I pull your leg? He’s going next 
month. He’s already looking about for somebody 
to get up a testimonial to him. He didn’t tell me that 
either, but I gathered it. He hoped there’d be no fuss. 
He’d prefer to say good-bye to his friends and go 
quietly — no illuminated addresses, or anything of that 
sort. But I gathered that he won’t refuse one if it is 
offered. I rather fancy he has you in his mind, James, 
as the right person to see about it.” 

“ I’m damned if I do,” said Worthing. 


CHAPTER VII 


A MORNING RIDE 

Caroline and her father rode out very early one morn- 
ing at the beginning of June. One of the habits they 
had formed was to seize to themselves the delicious 
freshness of the new day, unspoilt by the smoke and 
stir of towns. 

She and he were alone at the Abbey. After more 
than a year in which the London house had scarcely 
been used, they were beginning to discuss the advis- 
ability of giving it up altogether. They discussed it 
now as they rode across the dewy grass of the park, 
on their way to the high ground which would bring 
them to their favourite view across miles of southward 
facing country to the sea. 

“ You see, darling,” Caroline was saying, “ we always 
want to be here when we are there, and we very seldom 
want to be there when we are here. Beatrix generally 
stays with Aunt Katharine or Aunt Mary, anyhow, 
and you like staying at your Club if you have to go 
up alone. Now that Barbara has gone to Paris the 
Dragon won’t have to be in London to look after her, 
as we thought she must if she went up for classes.” 

“And what about you, Cara? You shirked most 
of your London gaieties last year. Are you going to 
cut yourself off from them altogether? ” 

93 


94 


THE GRAFTONS 


She laughed happily. “ Fancy wanting London 
gaieties when you can have this ! ” she said. “ I sang 
for joy this morning when I woke up and found myself 
here instead of in London.” 

“ Yes, that’s all very well,” he said. “ I feel like 
that myself, though I suppose that at my age no satis- 
faction is quite as hilarious as it is at yours. But it 
isn’t only the gaieties that you miss by cutting your- 
self off from London. It’s being in the swim. When 
you’ve been in the swim as long as I have, you know 
how much of it is necessary to you and how much 
isn’t. And you don’t lose all that you’ve gained for 
yourself when you begin to sit lightly to it all. But 
you have to gain it first.” 

“ I’m not sure that I want to gain more than I 
have,” she said. “ I have heaps of friends, and we 
see a good many of them down here. I like seeing 
those who really do count in that way; you get to 
know them better. It’s the background of life that 
I love so in the country. You belong to yourself 
more. Things come to you and you don’t have to go 
out to find them. I believe you feel that too, Daddy.” 

“ Yes, I do,” he said, “ more than I should have 
thought possible a year ago. But still I can’t see that 
it is quite the right thing for you to bury yourself 
down here entirely.” 

“ Don’t you feel that it’s nice to have me here to 
welcome you when you come home?” she asked. 

“ Oh, my darling,” he said, “ nothing could be better 
— for me. It’s you I’m thinking of.” 


A MORNING RIDE 


95 


Barbara had been sent off, protesting, to a e family ’ 
in Paris a fortnight before. She was to come home 
in August, when Young George would also come home 
for his summer holidays ; otherwise she had declared 
she would not consent to go at all. Beatrix was in 
London with Lady Handsworth, enjoying her second 
season, but not with quite the same youthful abandon 
as she had enjoyed her first. Miss Waterhouse was 
away visiting, but would come back shortly, either 
to Abington or to the house in Cadogan Place, where- 
ever the headquarters of the family should be. Caro- 
line after a week in London had pressed for Abington, 
and had had her own way. It was true that her 
way would bring most pleasure to her father. His 
centre of gravity had changed from London to the 
country. Except on occasions, his work occupied 
him not more than three days a week, and with her at 
Abington his home was indisputably there, as it would 
not have been otherwise. But he was getting to be a 
little anxious about this increasing disinclination of 
hers to follow out the life that seemed natural for a 
girl of her birth and upbringing. Both his sisters-in- 
law had spoken to him about it, Lady Grafton as well 
as Lady Handsworth. She was not doing herself jus- 
tice. They knew that he did not want to give her up, 
and there was no necessity for her to marry just yet. 
But she ought not to cut herself off from the surround- 
ings in which girls of her sort did find husbands, the 
surroundings in which he himself, and all of them, had 
found wives and husbands. 


96 


THE GRAFTONS 


He had felt the force of this. Though he hoped to 
keep Caroline with him for a time longer, the thought 
of her eventual marriage was never quite absent from 
his thoughts about her. He did not want it to be, 
necessarily, what is called a brilliant marriage, though 
with a girl of Caroline’s beauty and charm the most 
brilliant of marriages would not be more than her due ; 
but he did want her to marry among the people with 
whom both sides of her family had been connected 
now for some generations past, and that was condi- 
tional, as it seemed to him, upon her keeping 6 in the 
swim.’ There was an idea at the back of his mind 
that her whole-hearted love of a country life was 
rather unsettling her for the right sort of marriage. 
It seemed actually to have been responsible for her 
unwillingness to accept the young man whom for some 
time past he had thought, not without satisfaction, 
that she might marry. Francis Parry was still in 
love with her, and a year ago she had refused him in 
such a way as not to have made him relinquish all hope 
of winning her. The young man had told Grafton so 
rather pathetically not so long before. He had not 
bothered her, he had said, but wasn’t she getting 
tired of shutting herself away from everybody? Was 
his chance absolutely gone? 

The question had made Grafton bethink himself. 
When Caroline had definitely refused Francis for the 
second time a year before he had been well content 
to have it so. She had said that she had always liked 
him, and given her father to understand that when she 


A MORNING RIDE 


97 


should be ready to marry he would be such a husband 
as she would choose. It was because she was so happy 
at home that she did not want to marry yet. But now 
he was not so sure that it would be a man of the 
type of Francis Parry whom she would choose. She 
seemed to have moved away from the sort of life he 
represented, which was exactly the sort of life that 
he himself had represented, and to which his daughters 
had been brought up. The fact that he had refrained 
hitherto with her from any reference to the young 
man’s plea, although they had talked him over to- 
gether frankly enough before, showed the extent of his 
doubts about her. Although he sympathised with 
her strong preference for this quiet stay-at-home 
country life, and to a large extent shared it, it seemed 
almost as if she were moving away from him. 

They came to the high beechwood from which the 
famous view was to be seen. They sat on their horses, 
and drank in the tonic air which came from the sea 
across miles of open country. The sun was now high 
in the sky, and a line of silver in the far distance ful- 
filled their expectations. For in most conditions of 
atmosphere the view of the sea was by faith and not 
by sight. 

“ Isn’t it heavenly ! ” said Caroline. “ Oh, Dad, 
you must leave me to this ; I want to live all my life 
with it. I shouldn’t mind if I never saw London 
again.” 

They were going to breakfast at Grays, the seat of 
the Pemberton family. Bertie Pemberton, the only 


98 


THE GRAFTONS 


son, had married a few months before Mollie Walter, 
who had lived with her mother in a cottage at Abing- 
ton. He also had forsaken London, to settle down to a 
country existence for the rest of his life. It had 
been necessary for him 6 to do something ’ before 
succeeding to the parental acres, and the something 
he had chosen to do, after enjoying himself for three 
years at Oxford, was dealing with stocks and shares. 
This pursuit would appear to be singularly fitted for 
a young man with connections but no exaggerated 
equipment of brain power. But he was a countryman 
at heart, as had been all his forebears. A few years 
6 in the City ’ were his tribute to the larger life. Upon 
marriage he was quite content to close that chapter. 
There was enough for him to do with the management 
of his father’s estate as a serious occupation, and with 
the sports of the field as one hardly less serious. 

An old stone-roofed farmhouse, restored and refitted 
to make it a suitable home for an heir-apparent, was 
now Mollie’s habitation. It stood a little way back 
from the road, and as Grafton and Caroline rode up 
she came flying down the flagged path from the house 
door to greet them. She was like a vision of the sum- 
mer morning in her sparkling bridal happiness. Caro- 
line embraced her warmly when she had dismounted, 
with more emotion than she could have expressed. 
The happiness of others is a moving thing, especially 
when it rests upon love; and Mollie was supremely 
happy. Her husband, with a loud-voiced geniality 
which showed him at least to have nothing to com- 


A MORNING RIDE 


99 


plain of in life, followed her out and added his welcome. 
Thereafter there was talk and laughter, pride of new 
possession and sympathy with it, until it was time 
for the Graftons to ride home again. 

44 Isn’t it lovely to see them so pleased with them- 
selves? ” Caroline said, when she had waved her last 
farewell. 44 Do you remember Mollie a year ago, how 
shy and retiring she was? She is like a different crea- 
ture now.” 

44 Master Bertie is a different creature too,” said 
her father. 44 He’s always been noisy, but I like the 
sort of noise he makes now better than I did.” 

44 He adores Mollie,” said Caroline, 44 and she is 
just the wife for him. I love to see them together. 
You see, Dad, it isn’t necessary to fag about in Lon- 
don as a preparation for marriage. Mollie has hardly 
ever been there.” 

She seemed to have divined his inmost thoughts, and 
her speech surprised him a little. 44 Have you been 
thinking about that? ” he asked. 

“ No,” she said. 44 I’m quite happy with you, darling, 
if only you will leave me peacefully to look after you 
at Abington.” 

Her words gave him pleasure, but his conscience was 
aroused about her. 44 Lord knows I am happy enough 
to have you,” he said. 46 But I can’t keep you for ever. 
You’ll want what Mollie has some day.” 

66 Some day,” she said. 44 Yes. But I have all I 
want for the present.” 

44 What about Francis?” he asked, after a short 


100 


THE GRAFTONS 


pause. “ He wants you as much as ever. He told me 
so.” 

She looked troubled. “ I know he does,” she said. 
“ He told me so too.” 

He waited for her to go on. 

“ I like him as much as ever,” she said, “ for what 
he is.” 

“ For what he is ! ” he echoed. 

“ What he is isn’t what I want now,” she said, not 
without hesitation. “ It would be different if I were 
in love with him, as I suppose he is with me, — poor 
Francis ! If I felt like that I should not mind what 
I did or where I went with him.” 

“ My dear child, you talk as if he’d take you out 
to the wilds. You’d live where you liked, within reach 
of London. He has to stick to it closer than I do, at 
present. You couldn’t live right away, like this. 
But—” 

“ Oh, it wouldn’t be the same,” she said. “ But it 
isn’t that, Dad. I don’t love him. I thought I 
might, perhaps, last year, enough to live whatever life 
he liked with him. But now I know I never can. He 
isn’t what I want.” 

“ What do you want? ” he asked, throwing a glance 
at her. 

“ Only you, darling,” she said lightly. “ Don’t 
worry me about Francis. I’m worried about him a 
little myself, because I do like him, and we’re friends. 
But he’ll get over it, and find somebody else. I’m 
heart-free, Dad. Really I am. I love you and B, 


A MORNING RIDE 


101 


and Barbara and Bunting, and the Dragon, and every 
single soul who lives at Abington, except Lord Salis- 
bury; and he’s going soon. When I begin to love 
somebody else I’ll let you know. I don’t suppose you’ll 
have me on your hands all your life, but you’ll 
have me for a good long time to come. Let’s have a 
canter.” 

He was pleased enough. If she had wanted to marry 
Francis Parry he would have resigned her, and felt 
that it was the right thing. But he didn’t want that, 
or any other marriage for her, yet. He only wanted to 
be sure that he was not keeping her selfishly ; and her 
words, and more than her words, her tone, relieved 
him of any doubt on that subject. And her love for 
Abington, and her wish to make his home for him 
there suited him. She was more his at Abington than 
she could be in London. 

But he made up his mind that the succession of 
guests should not fail at Abington. She must not 
live out of the world, as he and his like estimated the 
world, at her age. He did not want her to become 
like the three loud good-natured horsey Pemberton 
girls, who in spite of their parentage and their wide 
relationships would always be country cousins, where- 
ever they went. Country cousins who came from such 
a house as Grays were well enough in their way, but it 
was not the way of the world that Caroline belonged 
to, the world that she was so fitted to adorn, and they 
were not. 

They had cantered across a high-lying common, and 


102 


THE GRAFTONS 


descended into a country lane along which they walked 
their horses, ready for conversation again. The 
hedges on either side of them were pink and white 
with May; the golden carpet of early June was spread 
all over the meadows; the trees wore their dress of 
freshest green; larks sang in high ecstasy overhead. 
Grafton felt the delight of the unused untroubled 
country, but though it was a rest and a refreshment 
to him, his life was bound up with other things that 
took him away from it, even while he was enjoying it. 
Stealing a glance at his girl’s much-loved face, he 
caught something of what it was to her to soak herself 
in all the happiness of nature, to wake and sleep 
with it, and to cast off from her the fitful life of sought- 
out amusements. She had flowered under it. Much as 
he adored his little Beatrix, and sweet and kind as she 
was, it came to him that Caroline’s was the finer char- 
acter of the two. Beatrix loved Abington too, and 
the quieter life they led there; but she loved it as he 
did, as a change and a refreshment. She would never 
have been content to settle down to it as Caroline had, 
for she had not the same resources in herself. 

44 Do you think there’s anything between Beatrix 
and Dick Mansergh? ” he asked suddenly. 

She laughed at him. 44 I’ve been wondering when you 
were going to ask me that,” she said. 

44 Oh, then you’ve noticed it.” 

44 Darling old thing ! ” she said fondly. 44 It’s plain 
enough that he’s head over ears. You must have seen, 
haven’t you? ” 


A MORNING RIDE 103 

“ Well, I suppose I have. But I want to know about 
her. She isn’t head over ears, is she? ” 

“ No, she certainly isn’t that. It’s too soon, you 
know, Daddy.” 

A shadow always came over his face when that af- 
fair with Lassigny was brought to his mind. “ She’s 
not still thinking of that fellow, is she ? ” he asked. 

“ I expect she thinks of him a good deal. That’s 
why she won’t think of anybody else for some time to 
come.” 

He did not push his question. He knew that that 
danger was past, and that if Beatrix still thought of 
Lassigny it was not with love. That had died in her. 

“Poor darling!” he said tenderly. “You know 
how I hated it at the time. But when she was getting 
over it I sometimes almost wished that he had come 
back. I’m precious glad he didn’t, though.” 

“ So am I now,” said Caroline. “ But it did leave 
a mark upon her. Should you mind, Dad, if she did 
want to marry Dick?” 

“Mind? No. Why should I mind?” he asked. 
“ It’s just the sort of marriage I should like for her. 
I suppose they’d be away a lot at first, but the old 
man is over eighty. It can’t be very long before Dick 
succeeds. Then they’d be living at Wilborough. 
There’s nothing I should like better.” 

She was a little surprised at this. It had not been 
only his objection to the man whom Beatrix had wanted 
to marry that had so upset him nearly a year before. 

He answered the thought in her mind. “ I know B 


104 


THE GRAFTONS 


has got to marry,” he said. “ She’s cut out for it. 
She was so young last year, and it came as a shock to 
me that she was already of a marriageable age. I 
couldn’t get used to it — that she wasn’t mine any 
more.” 

“ Do you feel like that about it, Dad? ” 

“ I don’t now. I’ve got used to the idea*” 

“ Of course we shall always be yours, whoever we 
marry.” 

“ Not as you have been, darling. That’s impossible. 
It was old Lady Mansergh who told me that fathers 
hated their daughters marrying because they had al- 
ways been first with them, and couldn’t be first any 
longer. That’s true, I suppose, if they marry some- 
body you can’t take in. It would certainly have been 
true of me if Beatrix had married that fellow.” He 
never spoke of Lassigny by name. “ But with a man 
you like and respect it’s different. You don’t lose 
everything, even if you can’t be first any longer. If 
he’s the right sort of man you gain. I believe your 
grandfather felt that about me. He loved your mother, 
and she was very young when we married. He didn’t 
like giving her up, but he was so nice about it that I 
took particular pains to show him what a lot I thought 
of him. He was a fine old boy. I wish you’d known 

H 

him longer, Cara. I believe, when he got used to it, 
that he was as fond of me as he was of any of his 
sons. Your mother used to write to him every week, 
and I used to write to him too. He told me before 
he died that it had made all the difference to him, 


A MORNING RIDE 


105 


the first year of our marriage. She was his only 
daughter, you see, and that was the time he felt it 
most.” 

“ Should you have felt like that about Francis, if 
I had wanted to marry him, Dad? ” 

“ It would rather have depended on how he felt 
about me,” he said. 

“ Should you about Dick Mansergh? ” 

“ I think I should. Yes, I think I should. I like 
him. He’s straight. And he’s companionable too. 
Besides, he’d be giving her all she ought to have. That 
would count for a good deal.” 

“ In what way, Dad? ” 

“ Well, you see, you’re responsible for bringing up 
your daughters in a certain way. You take a pride 
in what they become. You don’t want it all thrown 
away on somebody who isn’t up to their level.” 

She laughed. “ It all sounds very mercenary,” she 
said. 

“ I don’t think it is. A woman’s position is her hus- 
band’s ; until she’s married it’s her father’s. You 
don’t want your daughters lessened. It isn’t a ques- 
tion of money. It’s like to like. Look at that chap 
your Aunt Prudence married.” 

“ He had lots of money.” 

“ It’s all he did have. A silly fellow! Nobody 
thinks anything of him beside her. She has to carry 
him on her back wherever she goes.” 

“ Poor Aunt Prudence ! It’s rather pathetic the 
way she wants people to like him.” 


106 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Women have a wonderful sort of loyalty in that 
way. She must have found out his deficiencies long 
ago, but I suppose she wouldn’t admit to herself that 
he has any. It’s the people who look on who see it. 
All of us thought the world of her. She’d have helped 
on the biggest sort of man. It’s all wasted on that 
rabbit-brained nobody.” 

“ Well, darling, none of us are going to trouble you 
in that way. I shan’t, because I shall certainly want 
somebody with brains, though I haven’t got as many as 
Aunt Prudence. And I don’t think Beatrix will make 
any marriage that you wouldn’t like, now. She’s had 
her lesson, poor darling! She won’t let herself be 
caught again.” 

“ I really should like her to marry Mansergh, if she 
cared for him.” 

“ She doesn’t yet, dear. But I think she’s quite 
likely to come to it. I rather think that he’s strong 
enough to make her.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 

The Bishop was again visiting at Surley Park. He 
found his niece’s house a restful place of retirement, 
and his wife had confided to Ella Carruthers that it 
was such a relief to the dear man to get away from 
the clergy sometimes. 

He was not, however, to be spared the question of 
the clergy upon this visit, for the Graftons were com- 
ing over to consult him about one for Abington, and 
he had been given due warning that it would be so. A 
private patron does not always consult his Bishop over 
his appointments, and it was supposed that his Lord- 
ship would not be averse from giving his advice in 
this instance. 

Grafton came over to tea, with Caroline and Beatrix. 
There were to be guests at the Abbey that eyening, or 
the consultation would have taken place over the dinner 
table. 

Tea was in the garden, which spread in wide cedar- 
decked lawns round the great white house. The Bishop 
had a lovely garden of his own, in which he could taste 
the sweets of retirement. But there was a remoteness 
about this spreading country garden, with the fields 
and woods all around it, which he could not get in 
the high-walled pleasaunce of his palace. He sighed 
107 


108 


THE GRAFTONS 


with contentment as he sank down into a large cane 
chair by the tea table, and said: 

“ You have a lovely place here, my dear. I some- 
times wish that I had set out to be a country gentle- 
man, and dealt with beasts instead of with men.” 

“ You have to deal with both as a landowner,” said 
Ella, “ and the men are sometimes more difficult than 
the beasts.” 

“ The men are beasts sometimes,” said the Bishop’s 
wife, who prided herself upon her plain speaking. 

“ Now, my dear,” he said, “ we are going to forget 
all the disputes that beset us as long as we are here, 
and believe that none of them ever come to disturb 
the peace of such a place as Surley. Isn’t your friend 
Grafton coming over to see me, Ella? Ah! but here 
he is with two of those nice girls. What pretty 
creatures they are ! It’s a pleasure to look at 
them.” 

The Graftons were coming across the wide lawn. 
They were indeed pleasant-looking objects of the 
countryside, Grafton in his smart-looking blue flannel 
suit, the girls in their pretty summer frocks. Pres- 
ently they were all chatting and laughing over the tea 
table, and the Bishop was liking them more than ever 
for the friendly way in which they treated him, and 
the absence from their demeanour of that paralysing 
awe which so often irked him on similar occasions. 

Tea was over, and Grafton had just introduced the 
subject about which he had come, when a tall clerical 
figure was seen advancing across the lawn. 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 109 


“ There’s my friend Leadbetter come to see me,” 
said the Bishop. “ Do you mind talking over the 
question before him? He has been in the Diocese 
much longer than I have, and might be able to help 
us.” 

“ I don’t mind a bit,” said Grafton, “ but I don’t 
know Mr. Leadbetter yet. I haven’t had time to call 
on him.” 

The introductions were made. Mr. Leadbetter 
seemed rather vague as to who the Graftons were; 
but he seemed to be rather vague about everything 
except the absorbing subject of Church music. He 
was a tall thin man, with a pair of short-sighted 
eyes that peered mildly through big spectacles. His 
new parishioners had not quite made up their minds 
what to make of him yet, but those who had had any- 
thing to do with him had found him thoughtful and 
friendly, and were inclined to accept him as an adequate 
substitute for the old Rector who had lived among 
them for so long, and whose ways they had known so 
well. 

“ We were just beginning to talk about a new Vicar 
for Abington,” said the Bishop, when Mr. Leadbetter 
had settled in a chair and had accepted a cigarette, 
which he afterwards surreptitiously got rid of when it 
had gone out three times, and both ends were in a 
shockingly untidy state. 

“ Ah, yes, Abington,” he said, “ I called at Abing- 
ton Vicarage the other day. I remember that the note 
of the doorscraper was C sharp. Mercer is going, he 


110 


THE GRAFTONS 


told me. A very agreeable man — Mercer. You will 
be sorry to lose him, Mr. Grafton.” 

Beatrix caught the Bishop’s eye. There was a 
twinkle in it which made her want to kiss him. She 
refrained from this exhibition, but felt she had found 
a true friend. 

44 1 know who you are, now, of course,” said Mr. 
Leadbetter. 44 1 remember that Mercer mentioned 
your name when he came over to ask me if I thought 
there was any chance of his being preferred to this 
living.” 

There was a short pause, and then everybody, in- 
cluding the Bishop, laughed. Mr. Leadbetter looked 
surprised for a moment, and then smiled deprecatingly. 
44 Now I remember,” he said, 44 perhaps you won’t be 
sorry to lose him, after all.” 

This was all that was said about the retiring Vicar 
of Abington. 

44 1 haven’t many friends among the clergy,” said 
Grafton. 44 One or two of my friends at Cambridge 
went into the Church, but I have lost track of them 
mostly, and I can’t think of one who would be likely 
to want to come here. There is not much to offer, 
though I should be prepared to add to the stipend 
for a man who couldn’t afford to take it as it is.” 

He told them to what figure he would be willing to 
raise it, and the Bishop said that it would give a 
wider field of choice, as they need not think only about 
men who had money of their own. 

44 What sort of a man would you like to have there? ”/ 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 111 

he asked. “Don’t tell any one that I asked that 
question, Leadbetter.” 

“ Certainly not,” said the Rector of Surley. 44 I 
never make trouble for my Diocesan.” 

Grafton did not quite, see why the question should 
not have been asked. “ All questions of High and Low, 
and that sort of thing, I leave to you,” he said. 44 The 
sort of man I should like to have would be one who 
would get on well with his parishioners, and help to 
keep us all together.” 

“ Is that the sort of man you want, my dear? ” asked 
the Bishop, turning his beneficent gaze upon Caroline. 
44 I suppose you take an interest in the people around 
you.” 

44 What you really want is a Christian,” said the 
Bishop’s wife uncompromisingly. 44 I suppose there 
are a few in the Diocese, though I can’t say I have 
met many of them.” 

44 My dear, my dear ! ” expostulated the Bishop. 

Caroline answered his question. 44 We haven’t been 
here very long,” she said, 44 but we have made a great 
many friends among our people. We should like to do 
a lot for them, and we would help anybody who came 
there to look after them.” 

44 That is a most laudable statement from a Squire’s 
daughter,” said the Bishop. 44 What sort of things 
do you want to do for your people? ” 

44 She has all sorts of plans,” said Ella. 44 We 
have talked them over together. I want to do some- 
thing of the same sort here when I get to know Mr. 


112 


THE GRAFTONS 


Leadbetter more.” She threw a look at the mild gen- 
tleman, who was just then meditating the final re- 
linquishment of his cigarette. “ But there are more 
people at Abington than there are at Surley.” 

“Do you mean blankets and coal?” asked the 
Bishop’s wife, “ or do you mean Chamber music and 
lectures on literature? ” 

Mr. Leadbetter raised himself in his chair. “ Ah ! 
Chamber music ! ” he said, with a gleam of satisfaction 
behind his spectacles. “ If only we could manage some 
Chamber music ! ” 

“ Not a bit of use,” said the Bishop’s wife. “ A 
nigger minstrel entertainment would go down much 
better.” 

“ Caroline wants to teach the children Morris danc- 
ing and all that sort of thing,” said Grafton. “ They 
have it in the village where my brother-in-law lives, 
and everybody enjoys it immensely.” 

Caroline leaned forward. “ Anything which will 
make us all happy together,” she said. “ There are a 
lot of things which can be done that we should all 
like doing, and that would go of themselves if they 
were once started.” 

Grafton looked at her fondly. “ I believe they 
would all do anything for her, already,” he said, “ but 
she doesn’t want them to feel that she is patronising 
them. She wants to play with them just as she has 
played with her friends in London. That’s it, isn’t it, 
Cara? ” 

“ Yes, it’s to make us friends,” she said. 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 113 


“ I think that healthy amusement is a very good 
thing for people in a country parish,” said the Bishop’s 
wife, “ but you must have somebody to lead. Is that 
what you want your new Vicar to do? If so I should 
think he would be quite willing to do it. I have 
never found the clergy unwilling to lead in any- 
thing.” 

“ I should say the same about the wives of the 
clergy,” said the Bishop, with another twinkle in his 
eye, “ I think we must find a married Vicar for Abing- 
ton.” 

“ You didn’t find a married Rector for Surley,” said 
his niece, with another provocative look at Mr. Lead- 
better, who met it with bland unconsciousness. 

“ Music is a great thing to bring people together,” 
he said, “ and I suppose dancing too. But I have never 
danced, myself.” 

The eyes of Beatrix and the Bishop met again, and 
this time she had great difficulty in preventing herself 
from embracing him. 

“ That will only be a part of what we should want 
to do,” Caroline said ; “ but it would be rather impor- 
tant to have the clergyman on our side. If you want 
to get people together, he is the best man to do it, 
and he ought to know them better than anybody.” 

“ Yes, he ought to,” said the Bishop’s wife. 

“ He does, if he is the right sort of man,” said the 
Bishop. “ I think any incumbent might think himself 
fortunate in having you to help him in his work, my 
dear.” 


114 


THE GRAFTONS 


Caroline’s face fell a little, and the Bishop 
noticed it. Afterwards he asked his niece why it 
was. 

She thought for a moment, and then looked up with 
a smile. “ To tell you the truth, Uncle,” she said, 
“ and to risk your displeasure, Caroline and I are 
rather fed up with the talk of a clergyman’s work. I 
won’t say anything about this place, but at Abington 
it seemed to mean nothing but interference, and trying 
to bring people into line all round. Caroline refused 
to go visiting, as she was asked to do. Of course she 
docs go to see people, just as much perhaps as if she 
set out to do it as a regular duty, in the way that the 
Coopers did here, and never ceased talking about and 
patting themselves on the back for it. But she likes 
to go where they know she comes as a friend, and will 
be pleased to see her. She hates to think of that sort 
of thing as w r ork.” 

“ I don’t know why you should think you risk my 
displeasure in telling me that, my dear,” said the 
Bishop. 

A week later the Graftons were invited to dine at 
the Bishop’s Palace. The invitation was sent to Caro- 
line by the Bishop’s wife, who indicated in a few terse 
sentences that a clergyman would be there on in- 
spection, but didn’t know it, and was not to know it. 
If he didn’t suit he could go back where he came 
from, and nobody would be any the worse. Probably 
her way of putting it had not been authorised by the 
Bishop, who, however, took Grafton into his library 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 115 

on their arrival, and told him that he thought he had 
found him the right man. 

“ He is quite young,” he said, “ and has not long 
been married. He has been working hard in a very poor 
part of London, and I fancy that his health won’t 
stand it much longer. His father was an old friend 
of mine, and if you like him I think I can persuade 
him to come to you. He hasn’t any money of his 
own, but what you mentioned the other day will be 
enough for him. His name is Gerald Prescott.” 

They went up to the drawing-room, where a little 
group was standing by one of the windows, admiring 
the view of the garden, with the piled masonry of 
the Cathedral rising above the trees which enclosed 
it. There were four of them. Ella Carruthers and her 
aunt were talking together apart. The first impres- 
sion of the group was one of happy youth. They were 
all talking and laughing together, as if none of them 
had a care in the world. They were Caroline, the 
Bishop’s chaplain whom she knew already, and Pres- 
cott and his wife, with both of whom she had estab- 
lished relations almost upon the first words of intro- 
duction. 

Grafton’s first impression of the man to whom he 
had been invited to extend his patronage was of one 
hardly more than a boy. He was very fair, with 
untidy hair crowning a smooth fresh face, and though 
his smile was frequent and pleased there was rather a 
pathetic look as of a tired child about his eyes. His 
wife looked older than he, though she was actually 


116 


THE GRAFTONS 


a few years younger, and not marked by the physical 
weariness that showed in him. She had rosy cheeks 
and dark alert eyes, in which there was a motherly 
look very noticeable when she turned them upon her 
husband. 

Caroline was immensely taken with both of them, 
they were so simple and so confiding, and so unlike any 
young couple she had ever met before. Both of them 
belonged to her world; that was evident by a score 
of little signs. But they seemed to be quite detached 
from it, and indeed to have lost interest in it. Their 
interests were based upon a broad humanity which took 
no count of social grades. If the Bishop had be- 
thought himself of his niece’s protest against the per- 
petual talk of a clergyman’s 4 work,’ in producing this 
particular clergyman for inspection, he was abun- 
dantly justified by Prescott’s conversation. He and 
his wife both talked of the life they were living, the 
people they knew, and the things they did, in the same 
way as they might have talked if he had been an artist, 
for instance, living in Chelsea. There was the big 
church in the background, which would correspond 
to the studio, and what went on there, not to be too 
much talked about; and all around it the atmosphere 
of struggle, and tears, and laughter, and the miracu- 
lous events that shake the lives of those whose existence 
is based upon no material certainties, but based all 
the firmer upon an immoveable trust in a providence 
that may at any time bring something exciting and 
beneficial to pass, and at the worst will never let you 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 117 

quite down. The richness of it all was amazing. 
Instead of the picture of mean streets and drab and 
sordid lives, into which a man descended from serener 
heights to fight with poverty and crime, there was a 
crowded stage of characters of infinite variety, play- 
ing with the big things of life which are hidden under 
a mass of little things in the secured places, but play- 
ing with them as the gods might play with them, who 
must have the biggest toys to amuse them. 

“ You seem to have a lot of most disreputable ac- 
quaintances,” said the Bishop’s wife, when Prescott 
had been telling them stories about his friends. 

“ Oh, yes, we have,” he said, with a bright smile. 
“ All the respectable ones go to chapel. But they’re 
so dull that we don’t try to get them away. There’s 
no proselytising in our parish.” 

Caroline began to be afraid, as the life and the pur- 
suits of these young people disclosed themselves, that 
Abington, with its sparser, more monotonous life, 
would scarcely attract them, or satisfy them if they 
came there. But Prescott, who was sitting next to 
her at dinner, said to her in a low voice : “ How do 
you think she’s looking? She’s always lived in the 
country; she’s apt to get a little run down in a 
town.” 

Caroline reassured him, after a glance at his wife, 
who looked the picture of health and vigour, and 
he seemed relieved. “ Of course she loves it all,” he 
said. “ But it keeps her so on the go. It’s very dis- 
tracting, a town life. Both of us enjoy getting out 


118 


THE GRAFTONS 


into the country sometimes. You seem to belong to 
yourself more.” 

It was exactly what she had said of herself, finding 
a town life of such different quality from his distract- 
ing for self-possession. 44 Would you live in the coun- 
try if you had the choice? ” she hazarded. 

44 I’d live anywhere with her,” he said, jerking his 
head towards his wife with a boyish gesture. 44 But if 
I had to choose between the two, for myself, I’d choose 
a town, because there’s more to do. We both of us 
like to have plenty to do.” 

After dinner, before the men came up, Caroline 
sat with Viola Prescott in the window-seat from which 
they could see the dark mass of the Cathedral rising 
above the trees into the velvet purple night, and she 
asked the same question, in a tone that gave Caroline 
a tightening of the throat. 

44 He’s enjoying every moment of this,” she said, 
44 and he wanted just such a change. We haven’t been 
away together since just after Christmas. Do you 
think he looks very tired? It has been so hot in Lon- 
don.” 

44 1 think he looks as if he wants a change,” said 
Caroline. 44 Fresh air, perhaps, and not quite so much 
to do.” 

She sighed. 44 1 was afraid you would say that,” 
she said. 44 The Bishop said it too. He’s a lovely 
sort of Bishop, isn’t he? So human, and so kind, and 
not too churchy. It would be rather peaceful to be 
in his Diocese.” 


THE BISHOP FINDS A MAN 119 


“ Would you like to live in the country?” Caroline 
asked her. 

“ I should love it. I always did live in the country 
before we were married. I used to go and stay with 
an aunt in London sometimes, and was always glad to 
get back. I don’t care about London amusements. 
But we don’t have to bother ourselves with them in 
our part of London. I do like that, better than I 
thought I should, because you see people in a more 
natural way than at the other end of London. Gerry 
feels like that too. I can hardly ever drag him up to 
see our relations, and they hardly ever come to see us.” 

“ I feel just the same, about our part of London,” 
said Caroline. “ I’ve persuaded father to give up 
our house there, because I like living in the country 
much better. It’s partly because of the people, as you 
say. You get to know all sorts better, in the country. 
! have a lot of friends among the people in our vil- 
lage, just as you have in your parish, though they 
live rather quieter lives than yours seem to, and are 
not so — well, so disreputable.” 

Both of them laughed, with a glance at the Bishop’s 
wife. “ They’re not really disreputable,” Viola said ; 
“ only most of them don’t know whether they are going 
to have anything to eat to-morrow, or the next day. 
So they have to keep cheerful while they have got 
enough. Still, it is rather a rackety life. I think I 
should like to be among quieter people, for a change; 
and of course one does miss the sweet air and the peace 
of the country. I wouldn’t mind a bit for myself if I 


120 


THE GHAT TONS 


didn’t think Gerry ought to have a rest. He isn’t very 
strong, poor darling, and he works too hard.” 

It was the first time that work had been mentioned. 

44 And he will invite such a lot of people to meals,” 
she went on ; 44 and there isn’t always enough for them. 
And then of course he goes without.” 

44 1 expect you do too, if there isn’t enough,” said 
Caroline, smiling at her. 

44 Oh, I’m as strong as a horse,” she said. 44 But 
we haven’t got much money, you know, and house- 
keeping is rather difficult sometimes.” 

The Bishop’s wife sailed over to them. 44 Are you 
persuading her to make her husband come to Abing- 
ton?” she asked. 44 She ought to. He can’t stand 
that life much longer.” 

Caroline looked up at her in some confusion. 

44 Oh, I know nothing was to be said about it till 
after you had seen whether you liked them or not,” 
she said. 44 But of course you like them. I do myself, 
though I should like to smack them both and send 
them to bed.” 

44 We want a Vicar at Abington,” said Caroline. 
44 Father is the patron of the living. Do persuade 
your husband to come there.” 

Viola’s eyes filled with tears, and she took Caro- 
line’s hand. 44 Oh, my dear, it’s just what I should 
love for him,” she said. 44 He’ll get enough to eat, and 
time to rest sometimes.” 

So when the men came up they found it all settled 
for them. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE NEW VICAR 

The Prescotts came over to the Abbey on the next 
afternoon. They were to stay there for two nights, 
and everything was to be settled for Prescott’s induc- 
tion to the living at an early date. 

Both of them were in the highest spirits. 44 What 
a lark it all is ! ” said the Vicar-elect of Abington, 
grinning all over his face as Caroline met them at the 
door. His wife was as excited and happy as he was, 
but when Caroline took her up to her room, she took 
hold of both her hands, and the tears came into her 
eyes, as she said : 44 Oh, my dear, if you only knew what 
all this means to us! This lovely, peaceful country, 
after the crowds and the dirt ! It’s the dirt I hate so 
much. You can’t get away from that. Gerry hates 
it too, though he won’t admit it.” 

Grafton had arranged that they should inspect the 
Vicarage immediately upon their arrival. The Vicar 
had expressed some surprise at the suddenness with 
which everything had been arranged. He let it be 
understood that it would have been more in keeping 
with the respect due to his holy office if he had been 
consulted about the new appointment. But at this 
time he was more careful than usual to escape all sus- 

m 


122 


THE GRAFTONS 


picion of dispute, having Ills eye fixed upon the illumi- 
nated address and the silver, or at least heavily-plated, 
salver or tea-service of the presentation, of which, 
however, he had as yet gained no hint, although the 
time for his departure was getting close. 

The four of them walked up to the Vicarage together, 
after a preliminary inspection of the church, with 
which Prescott expressed himself delighted. 

“ Ours is a horrid gloomy thing,” he said, “ and 
you can’t always feel you are getting quite away in it. 
This is just right. I like it’s being here, right away 
from the village.” 

Their progress up the village street aroused notice, 
for it was some weeks since it had been known that the 
Vicar was giving up, and so far there had been no 
sign of his successor. If this was to be the new 
Vicar, it was generally agreed by those who saw him, 
on his way to and from the Vicarage, that he would do 
very well. The children were coming from school 
when they returned, and he and Caroline, who were 
walking behind the others, found themselves involved 
in a laughing group of them, and went down to the 
end of the street with a small boy holding one of 
Prescott’s hands and a small girl the other, while 
the rest circled round them and gave shrill and hilari- 
ous answers to the absurd questions asked of them by 
this remarkable but none the less entertaining new 
kind of clergyman. 

The Vicar and Mrs. Mercer received them accord- 
ing as their different temperaments dictated. The 


THE NEW VICAR 


123 


Vicar was important and patronising with Prescott, 
and his wife sympathetic with Viola. 

44 I’m sure you will like the house,” she said. “We 
have had some very happy times here, and are sorry to 
be giving it up, although we have a very nice one to 
go to. We will do all we can to make it easy for you 
to come in.” 

Caroline put her arm into hers. She felt very sorry 
for this poor little lady, who had made such a brave 
show in a situation that to her must have been full 
of distress. Caroline did not know that her father 
had actually asked the Vicar to leave, but it had been 
made so plain all around that there was nothing but 
satisfaction felt at his departure. People liked Mrs. 
Mercer, whenever they had a chance of judging of her 
apart from her husband, but she had suffered from 
her very loyalty to him, and must have been saddened 
at leaving her home of many years with few to regret 
her. 

She responded to Caroline’s touch with a little pres- 
sure of her arm, and smiled up at her. 44 It’s horrid 
going away from you, dear,” she said. 44 I shall be 
quite jealous thinking of Mrs. Prescott in my place 
here.” 

They went over the house and garden and outbuild- 
ings together, the Vicar talking most of the time, and 
Prescott’s face gradually lengthening as he did so. 
For his talk was mostly of 4 fixtures ’ and of 4 taking 
over,’ and apparently it had not hitherto struck the 
Vicar-elect that to be presented to a living involved 


124 


THE GRAFTONS 


details of this sort. He did not, however, say any- 
thing as to any difficulty he might find in providing 
money that had mounted up to a considerable sum 
when the Vicar had indicated all the expensive articles 
that he had put in, and all the other expensive articles 
that it wouldn’t be worth while to take out. He looked 
a little less frightened when they had come back to 
the drawing-room and his wife said boldly : 44 I don’t 
think we shall want anything that we’re not obliged to 
take, Mr. Mercer. We shan’t be able to live in more 
than a few rooms for some time, because we haven’t 
got any money for furnishing.” 

The Vicar blinked. It seemed almost indecent to 
acknowledge a lack of money in this fashion, especially 
to a man who had 4 private means.’ He turned to 
Prescott. 44 1 don’t think you will find it practicable 
to live in a few rooms here,” he said. 44 Your parish- 
ioners expect more of you in the country than they 
do in a town. You have to keep up your position 
before them.” 

Viola’s interposition had lifted a weight from her 
husband’s mind. Of course she would undertake all 
that sort of thing. It wasn’t for him to bother himself 
about it. They would be quite happy living in two 
rooms together, with the furniture that they already 
had; and, with the enormous income of £500 a year 
that would now be at their disposal, they would be able 
to get whatever they wanted to furnish the rest. Nor 
was he at all subdued by the Vicar’s speech. 

44 Oh, we are not going to be bothered about keeping 


THE NEW VICAR 


125 


up a position,” he said. “ I expect I shall have 
plenty of parishioners a good deal poorer than I 
am.” 

With the casting off of the burden which had be- 
gun to oppress him, he emerged into a condition of 
extremely high spirits again. He drew comparisons 
between the state in which he would live and that in 
which the Mercers had lived. He chaffed the Vicar, 
and treated him generally as if he were rather a comic 
character. He showed himself extremely irresponsible 
with regard to all questions of management, both do- 
mestic and official, and told Mrs. Mercer that if she 
hadn’t taken all that sort of thing off her husband’s 
hands it must have been because she was not fit to 
be a clergyman’s wife. He received in* a spirit of 
levity a list of fixtures which the Vicar had typed 
out for him, services in the church, meetings for this 
and that in the schoolroom and elsewhere, an itinerary 
of visiting for three afternoons in the week. 

“ You have been a busy little bee,” he said. “ I 
expect you’ve kept them all in order too. I’m afraid 
I shan’t be able to do that. But it all looks splendid 
on paper. I wish I could afford a typewriter. But 
what’s this word ‘agout’? Oh, I see, it’s meant for 
6 about.’ Thanks very much. I’ll put it in my 
pocket.” 

When they had taken themselves off the Vicar went 
into his study, with his mouth set and the cloud on 
his Olympian brow that his wife had become so used to 
after interviews of this sort. She followed him in, 


126 


THE GRAFTONS 


however, and sat herself down in the high chair by the 
fireplace to go through with it. 

“ Upon my word ! ” he began. “ It’s a positive 
insult for Grafton to put a man like that in to suc- 
ceed me. And unless I am very much mistaken, it’s 
meant as such.” 

“ The Bishop chose him, you know, Albert,” she said 
quietly. “ Mr. Grafton told us that he had asked him 
to recommend him somebody.” 

“ The Bishop can’t know what an impossible sort 
of creature he is,” he said. “ I am not at all sure that 
it isn’t my duty to tell him. In all my life I’ve never 
seen anybody so absolutely unfitted to take charge of 
a parish. The idea of his having the audacity to tell 
me that he didn’t believe in regimenting people. That 
was a hit at me and my work, of course. All that I 
have done here for years past is to be thrown away, 
and the parish turned into a bear garden, for a young 
idiot like that to disport himself in.” 

“ He is evidently very gay and lively by nature,” 
she said, “ and of course he is pleased at coming 
here. I think that half of what he said was only 
meant in fun, and evidently he relies a great deal upon 
her for all the business side of his work.” 

“ She is no better than he is,” snapped the Vicar. 
“ Fancy a woman like that going about among the 
people, and them knowing the way in which they are 
going to live here. If she does go about among the 
people! But I should think it’s more likely that they 
will both spend most of their time at the Abbey, 


THE NEW VICAR 


127 


sponging on the Graf tons, and trying to get in with 
all the big houses around. You can see they are no- 
bodies — not a shilling to bless themselves with. No 
doubt it is a great thing for them to get into a 
neighbourhood like this, and they’ll make the most 
of it.” 

He went on for some time in this fashion, but his 
wife did not answer him, and when he had run himself 
down a little and looked at her, he saw that she was 
softly crying. 

He came to a stop in front of her and said awk- 
wardly, “ What’s the matter? It’s dreadful to think 
of things going to rack and ruin in a place where 
we’ve worked so hard and done so much; but we shall 
be out of it at any rate. Don’t upset yourself, Ger- 
trude.” 

She dried her eyes. “ I was thinking how happy 
they both were,” she said. “ We were pleased too when 
we first came here and looked forward to living in 
this nice house.” 

He resumed his pacing of the room. “ So we shall 
be where we are going,” he said, “ and we are looking 
forward to a life of useful active service, and not to 
the ramshackle unuseful life that those two are going 
to live.” 

“ They have left a great many friends behind them 
where they have been living,” she said, “ and they will 
make a great many friends here. We shall leave hardly 
a single friend, after fifteen years, and if we make new 
ones where we are going to, I’m afraid we shan’t keep 


128 


THE GRAFTONS 


them. Oh, why can’t you think more kindly of people, 
Albert? We see everybody around us making friends 
and helping each other, and we are left out of it all. 
The people we have quarrelled with can’t all of them 
always be in the wrong, and we always in the right.” 

44 Oh, come now, my dear,” he said authoritatively. 
44 We have had that all out, and I have admitted to you 
that I have perhaps been a little too rigid in exacting 
respect for my office. The fact is, Gertrude, that you 
are upset at giving up your home of so many years, 
and I can make excuses for that. Let us begin our 
new life with cheerful hearts, and leave the past be- 
hind us.” 

44 We shall take it all with us,” she said, 44 if you 
can’t learn the Christian charity that you preach about. 
My heart went out to those two young people. I 
know that they are good and loving; you can see it 
in their faces — loving towards each other and full of 
love towards the people they live amongst. I am sure 
they will do more with that spirit than we have ever 
been able to do.” 

44 1 can make excuses for you, Gertrude, as I said 
just now, but in accusing me to my face of a lack of 
Christian charity, you are saying a very serious 
thing.” 

44 1 know,” she said. 44 And lately I have begun to 
see that it is a very serious thing. You can’t see 
goodness where it is plain to be seen. I don’t believe 
you will find anywhere a sweeter, truer character than 
Caroline Grafton’s. There isn’t a soul in the place 


THE NEW VICAR 


129 


who knows her who doesn’t almost worship her; but 
she has offended you in some little way and you can 
never say a good word for her. And I think the 
happiness of that young couple ought to make anybody 
feel better who sees it, but it only makes you gird at 
them. It has been so often like that. How many times 
have you come back into this room after seeing people 
off with a smile on your face, to cover them with con- 
tempt and anger? I know we shall never be happy 
wherever we go, if you can’t see how wrong you are; 
and we shall never have any friends — not to keep them. 
We shall be lonely all our lives.” 

She saved him the trouble of replying to this un- 
wonted attack by going out of the room, once more 
in tears. He walked up and down for some time after 
she had left, with a frown upon his face, and once he 
went to the door, and hesitated, as if he would follow 
her. But he thought better — or worse — of it, and 
came back into the room and sat himself down at his 
writing-table after the manner of a man exasperated 
beyond all bearing. 

It was not his wife, however, who had exasperated 
him, for he was nice to her when they met again later 
on, and talked pleasantly about the new home they 
were going to ; so that she began to think that she had 
been rather hard on him. 

Caroline found her father alone just before they 
went up to dress for dinner, and said : “ Dad, darling, 
you’ve got heaps of money. Couldn’t you buy all those 
things Lord Salisbury wants to leave behind, and make 


180 


THE GRAFTONS 


them a present of them? Poor dears, they’ll have 
hardly anything. They have been laughing about it, 
and I don’t think he minds. But of course she would 
like to have a pretty house. She was brought up in 
one. She has been telling me about it.” 

“ He’s been telling me about it too,” said Grafton 
laughing. “ You know, I’m not at all certain, Cara, 
that we shan’t have trouble with that pair of lunatics. 
Nobody can help liking them, but as a Vicar and 
Vicaress of a respectable country parish I don’t 
quite see them.” 

“Oh, I do,” she said. “He is just one big loving 
heart, and he hasn’t time to think about all the little 
things that most of us make such a fuss about. And 
she has thrown herself into it all because she loves him. 
But she’s just like anybody else, and she’ll keep him 
in order.” 

“ Do you know the story of their marriage ? ” he 
asked her. 

“ She told me that the fathers of both of them had 
lost all their money before they died, and that their 
relations on both sides had been very much against 
their marriage.” 

“ Their fathers were partners in business, and a 
third partner let them in horribly, and bolted. Be- 
fore they had time to pull things together both of 
them died, within a month of one another. Their 
mothers were both dead too, and they are both only 
children. It’s an extraordinary series of coincidences. 
The relations on each side accused the other of rank 


THE NEW VICAR 


131 


carelessness, and there must have been great careless- 
ness somewhere, though they haven’t discovered yet 
where it was. I dare say they were both happy-go- 
lucky gentlemen, if they were anything like their off- 
spring, and one was as bad as the other. So both those 
young people being in the same box they thought 
the best thing they could do would be to get married.” 

“ She was in a furniture shop for a year after her 
father died.” 

“ Yes ; till he’d managed to save twenty pounds out 
of his screw to get something to start on. An old aunt 
of his came round by that time, but he wouldn’t take 
a bob off her. Well, I dare say they’ve been as happy 
as most people on his hundred and fifty a year.” 

“ Isn’t it wonderful? But they’ll be much better off 
now. You will buy those things for them, won’t you, 
darling? ” 

“ No, Cara, I won’t.” 

“ Dad, darling! Why not? ” 

“ I’ve told you, haven’t I ? ” 

She thought for a moment, and then kissed him. 
“ Yes, I see,” she said. “ You’re a clear-sighted old 
Daddy. I expect you’ve been itching to do it all the 
time.” 

“ Well, I have, to tell you the truth,” he said. “ I 
should have liked to tell Mercer to make up his beastly 
bill and send it in to me. But I saw it wouldn’t do. 
They wouldn’t like to be dependent on us, and they 
wouldn’t like to say no. I’ll tell you what I’ve had to 
do, though, and it’s a good thing that I’ve had a lucky 


132 


THE GRAFTONS 


stroke lately that will cover it. I’ve had to promise 
the Bishop to endow the blooming living up to the tune 
I was ready to pay Prescott. He wouldn’t have taken 
it otherwise.” 

In her happy state of never having had occasion 
to consider money, she did not realise the magnitude 
of this obligation. 44 You’re a little patron of the 
Church, darling,” she said, 44 and they’ll put you in 
all the papers.” 

“ That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said. 44 I’ve told 
the old boy to keep it dark.” 

The Graftons happened to be in London for the 
week in which the Vicar took his departure. He had 
found out that there was no proposal on foot to pre- 
sent him with a testimonial, nor even to give him a 
farewell tea. He suffered acute annoyance over these 
omissions, but almost for the first time in his life kept 
it to himself, and pleased his wife by proposing that 
they should give a farewell tea themselves, to the more 
regular of the churchgoing parishioners. This spon- 
taneous exhibition of liberality, coupled with the ab- 
sence of any serious outbreak of censorious speech dur- 
ing their last weeks at Abington, led her to suppose 
that he also had taken to heart what had become so 
plain to her, and gave hope of a less stormy life in 
the future. But, although there may have been some 
faint reason for this hope, the tea-party had sug- 
gested itself as the only opportunity for delivering a 
speech that he had been preparing for some weeks 
past. If there was nobody who had the common 


THE NEW VICAR 


133 


decency, at the end of fifteen years’ pastorate, to sum 
up the work that had been done in it, and to congratu- 
late him upon it, he would do so himself. He had kept 
records of all services, classes, meetings, visits, and 
journeys during the whole of the time, and put to- 
gether they amounted to quite a respectable total. 
They would see that the life of a devoted parish priest 
even in a country parish was not the easy thing that 
4 perhaps some of you here are inclined to think.’ 
When he had added up his totals the bright idea 
struck him of dividing his income into them, and 
showing what an absurd rate of pay the devoted 
parish priest received for his self-sacrificing labours. 
But when the sum had been done he found it worked 
out at about six-and sixpence an item, and he couldn’t 
honestly make it less, even by omitting to reckon in the 
rentable value of the Vicarage. Counting that in, it 
came to about half-a-guinea, and however cheap his 
sermons might be at that price, he thought it would 
hardly do to give the idea that he had been paid ten 
and fivepence every time he had done one of his parish- 
ioners the honour of paying him or her a call. So 
he gave up the idea with some regret, because, of 
course, you couldn’t really look at it in that way, and 
the figures were sufficiently startling if looked at in 
some other. 

Eventually the idea of the tea-party was given up 
too. Regular churchgoers were found to be few in 
number, when the question came to be considered in 
detail, and of no great importance in the community. 


134 


TJIE GRAFTONS 


The farmers were hay-making, and without a stiffen- 
ing of substantial people the affair would come down 
to a mere offering of a meal to a score or so of people 
who would rather enjoy it, which scarcely seemed 
worth while. 

So the Vicar cast the dust of Abington from off 
his feet with no formal leave-taking at all, and, re- 
membering the thirteen thousand odd engagements 
which he had carried out, felt some of the satis- 
faction of martyrdom as he stepped into the train. 

The Prescotts moved in. They refused to stay at 
the Abbey more than a single night, and would not 
have stayed one if their furniture had arrived on the 
same day as they did. For they would not have 
missed the fun of a move for anything. 

It was not much of a move. The contents of their 
two rooms in Bermondsey made more of a show than 
might have been expected. Viola had a pretty taste 
in furniture and decoration, and the year she had 
spent before her marriage in helping to furnish for 
other people had shown her the right way to set about 
it. They had managed to scrape together a little 
money and made it go a very long way. Moreover, 
everybody helped her. Caroline and she made cur- 
tains. Odd things not wanted at the Abbey found 
their way to the Vicarage and were accepted as the 
gifts of friends. Mr. Williams came over from Felt- 
ham and carpentered gaily. Maurice Bradby was the 
handy man about the place. Everybody who came 
to see these new, funny, delightful people got caught 


THE NEW VICAR 185 

up in the prevailing excitement and did something, if 
it was only to advise somebody else. 

Only the new Vicar did nothing towards the instal- 
lation of his home, except appreciate it enormously. 
He was out all day among his parishioners, whom he 
found the nicest sort of people he had ever met. 


CHAPTER X 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 

On a day early in his summer holidays Young George 
went over to Feltham Hall to lunch with his friend 
and schoolfellow, Jimmy Beckley. Mr. and Mrs. 
Beckley and their eldest daughter were away. “ You 
don’t mind putting up with the kids at lunch,” said 
Jimmy. “ We can shift them afterwards or make them 
useful if we want to play games. Ruth and Jane aren’t 
bad at tennis, and I’ve trained them all to bowl to me 
at a net. We can have a little cricket practise if you 
like.” 

Jimmy himself had reached the ripe age of fifteen. 
He was the only son of his house. The kids to whom 
he referred were his sisters Ruth, Jane, Isabel, and 
Ellen, who ranged in age from sixteen to eleven, and 
whom he affected to rule with a rod of iron. They 
were rather subdued in manner, but more, perhaps, 
because their father, who had married late in life, 
was something of a martinet, and they spent their 
days in company with an accomplished and decisive 
French governess, than because they were in any par-, 
ticular dread of Jimmy’s rod. 

“Mademoiselle will want to jabber French at you,” 
Jimmy warned his friend. “ They’re supposed to do 
it at lunch, and I don’t mind it myself, because it’s 
136 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 137 

good training. But you can answer her in English if 
you like. She understands all right. She’s not a bad 
sort, though apt to think she has some authority over 
me, which of course she hasn’t. You’ll make allow- 
ances for that. She’s been here five years, and of 
course I was only a kid when she came.” 

“ Oh, I’ll make allowances all right,” said Young 
George. 44 If she corrects your table manners, I’ll 
pretend I don’t understand.” 

Jimmy passed this by, as being beneath his dignity 
to reply to. 44 Lunch won’t be for another half-hour,” 
he said. 44 We might go and have a look at the gees. 
The governor bought a new pair of carriage horses 
the other day which I should like you to throw your 
eye over.” 

44 Which one? ” asked Young George. 44 I can throw 
better with the right.” 

44 Funny ass ! ” said Jimmy. 44 1 think the governor 
depends too much on the judgment of Kirby, the head 
coachman. He’s a shooting man himself, and doesn’t 
take the interest in his cattle that you or I would.” 

44 I like cattle myself,” said Young George ; 44 es- 
pecially good milkers.” 

Jimmy thought it was time to rebuke this spirit of 
levity. 44 You seem rather above yourself this morn- 
ing, George,” he said. 44 I suppose you’re bucked with 
the idea of seeing Maggie Williams. You’ll be glad 
to hear that I told Ruth to ask her to tea. I’ve no 
fancy for infants myself, but I’m aware some people 
like ’em,” 


138 


THE GRAFTONS 


Young George blushed, but did not allow himself to 
be confounded. “ Have you seen Kate Pemberton 
since you’ve been home ? ” he asked. 

“ When you’re ready to talk sensibly, I may per- 
haps tell you something about Kate Pemberton,” said 
Jimmy. “ As long as you’re in this rotting mood, I 
prefer to keep it to myself.” 

“ I wouldn’t rot upon such a serious subject as 
love’s young dream,” said Young George. “ You 
ought to know me better than that, Jimmy.” 

They had by this time reached the stables. It 
seemed to Young George that Jimmy showed some 
relief at being told that the head coachman was at his 
dinner. He told one of the grooms to strip the horses 
they had particularly come to inspect, and entered 
into a long and technical discussion with him as to 
their points and qualifications. Young George list- 
ened, not without admiration. He couldn’t have done 
it so well himself, and his tendency to ‘ rot ’ was sub- 
dued by the time the inspection was over and they 
had left the stables on the way towards the house. 

“ I say,” he said, “ what was it you wanted to tell 
me about Kate Pemberton ? ” 

Jimmy did not reply directly. “ You know, old 
chap, I’m not so sure that you’re not right in pre- 
ferring a youngster like Maggie Williams,” he said. 
u Girls of that age haven’t got our knowledge of the 
world, of course. But they’re devilish taking some- 
times. And they look up to you more than an older 
woman does.” 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 139 


“ I like Maggie all right,” said Young George, with 
elaborate unconcern. “ She’s very lively and amusing ; 
but I’ve never said I was gone on her, as you’ve said 
you were on Kate Pemberton.” 

“ No, you haven’t said it,” said Jimmy significantly. 
“ However, I don’t want to press for confidences you 
don’t care about giving me. About Kate Pemberton — 
I must confess I have thought a good deal about her 
for the last two years — at least in the hunting season 
I have; it calmed down a bit last summer. Nobody 
could help admiring her on a horse.” 

“ She goes like a good ’un,” said Young George. 
“ I suppose you mean you’re calming down a bit now. 
Have you seen her since you’ve been home? ” 

“ Yes, I rode oyer to Grays yesterday afternoon. 
That’s what I wanted to tell you about. There was 
a fellow there called Colonel Webster; I think he’s a 
Gunner. Unless I’m very much mistaken he’s there 
for one purpose and one purpose only.” 

Young George was impressed. “ Did she seem to 
like him ? ” he asked. 

“ She couldn’t be expected to show that before me,” 
said Jimmy. “ I must say she was as nice as ever. 
She knows how to treat a fellow a bit younger than 
herself. There’s none of that 4 Oh, you’re only a little 
boy ’ sort of business that some people seem to think 
so funny.” 

“ If you mean Barbara,” said Young George, “ it’s 
only her fun. She does the same sort of thing to me, 
and I don’t mind it.” 


140 


THE GRAFTONS 


44 I wasn’t thinking of Barbara,” said Jimmy, 44 I 
know it’s only rotting with her, and we rot her in re- 
turn. When is Barbara coming back, by the bye?” 

44 Monday, I think. Well, go on — about the Colonel 
who has cut you out.” 

44 That’s just the whole point, my son,” said Jimmy. 
44 I’m not going to let him cut me out.” 

44 What are you going to do then — challenge him 
with pistols ? ” 

44 No, I’m going to retire. To tell you the honest, 
I’m not sure I haven’t made rather an ass of myself 
over Kate.” 

44 Oh, don’t say that, Jimmy.” 

“ How old should you say she was, now? ” 

44 I don’t know. I should think about thirty.” 

“ Oh, give her a chance, old man. I happen to know 
she’s twenty-six. Well, you see it’s all right now. I 
reckon that fellows of our age, who have knocked about 
a bit and know what’s what, are equal to girls of ten 
years or so older. In fact, Kate has always treated 
me as an equal, as I told you, and in a good many 
things she’s deferred to my opinion. At the same 
time, you’ve got to look ahead a bit. You know your- 
self that a man of twenty-six is still young. I shall 
be all right in ten years’ time, but I ask myself what 
she’ll be— eh? ” 

44 A bit long in the tooth,” suggested Young George. 

44 Well, there you are,” said Jimmy. 44 1 shall al- 
ways have a friendly feeling for Kate. After all, she 
was the first girl I really cared about. Others before 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 141 


her were just fancies that I grew out of. I think she’ll 
always remember me too. We’ve had some good times 
together. But I think it’s time it ended now. I shall 
make a few enquiries about this fellow Webster, and 
if I find that he’s a decent chap, and means to run 
straight, as I’ve no reason to suppose he doesn’t, I 
shall stand aside.” 

44 Well, I think it’s very noble of you,” said Young 
George. “ I say, what’s the French for 4 How do you 
do?’” 

Mademoiselle was standing at the hall door, and 
somewhat ruffled Jimmy’s dignity by enquiring in 
voluble French whether he hadn’t heard the gong five 
minutes ago and whether he had already washed his 
hands for lunch. She smiled affably at Young George, 
however, as she shook hands with him, and said that 
evidently in the vacations one must not be too exigent 
as to punctuality. 

“ Commencez done, Mam’selle,” said Jimmy. 44 Nous 
allons laver les mains, moi et Monsieur Grafton. Nous 
descendons toute de suite.” 

44 1 say, you can chuck it off! ” said Young George 
admiringly, as they went upstairs ; and Jimmy felt his 
self-respect restored. 44 I’ve picked it up going 
abroad,” he said. 44 You’ve got to be pretty good at 
it for Diplomacy, you know. May as well get used to 
it early.” 

44 I thought you’d chucked the idea of Diplomacy.” 

44 Ah, that’s when I thought I should want to make 
money — you know.” 


142 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Oh, I see. You were going to chuck Oxford too.” 

“ I shall go to Oxford. The governor was there. 
Pity to break the tradition. And you may as well have 
a good time while you’re young. I shan’t settle down 
for some years now. I’m glad I’ve made a clean breast 
of it all to you, George. It gives one a good deal to 
think about, but I feel I’ve done the right thing.” 

“ I’m sure you have,” said Young George sympa- 
thetically. “ You don’t want to tie yourself up at 
your age.” 

The four Beckley girls, flaxen-haired and pig-tailed, 
and Mademoiselle, were already at table, and Young 
George went round and shook hands with the girls 
before taking his seat. He privately thought them a 
very dull lot, being used to the gay talkativeness of 
his own sisters, which was a great contrast to their 
don’t-speak-till-you’re-spoken-to manner, but he did 
not allow his opinion to be apparent; and he was ex- 
cessively liked in the Beckley family, the younger mem- 
bers of which, always excepting the son of the house, 
were not accustomed to so much notice as Young 
George gave them. Mademoiselle liked him also, and 
had said of him that his manners were as good as those 
of a young Frenchman. If the Beckley girls had not 
thought that they were a good deal better this well- 
meant commendation would have reduced him in their 
eyes; for they hated all things French with a deadly 
hatred. 

Mademoiselle, out of compliment to Young George, 
permitted English to be spoken during the meal. It 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 143 


was only Jimmy who forgot the permission occasion- 
ally, his sisters being rejoiced to be freed from the 
shackles of the detested tongue, and taking a more 
lively part in the conversation in consequence. Young 
George found Ruth, next to whom he sat, more sym- 
pathetic than he had been aware of. She had a great 
admiration for Barbara, whose freedom of speech and 
action she secretly envied, and Young George, who 
was proud of all his sisters, told several anecdotes 
of Barbara’s ready wit, which were well received. 

“ Qu’elle est mignonne, cette petite, n’est ce pas, 
Mam’selle?” said Jimmy, after a story which had 
been greeted with approving laughter. 

“ If she heard you calling her 4 petite ’ she would 
smack your ’ead, vieux grandpere,” said Mademoiselle. 
“ I know her. And I have told you that you need not 
speak French. You are not so ready with it when 
you don’t want to make a show off.” 

“ I’d offer you a cigarette in the governor’s room,” 
said Jimmy after lunch, “ but Mam’selle would be quite 
likely to come in and kick up a fuss. They’re very 
trying, these foreign women. But she’s been with 
us so long one’s got to humour her. We might go and 
sit by the tennis lawn till the girls come out. We 
can smoke there. It’s away from the house.” 

“ The Governor asked me not to smoke till I’m a 
bit older,” said Young George, “ but I’ll watch you if 
you like.” 

“ If you don’t I won’t,” said Jimmy, putting his 
cigarette case back into his pocket. 


144 


THE GRAFTONS 


44 I wont tell anybody,” said Young George. 

44 It isn’t that,” said Jimmy. 44 As a matter of 
fact I’ve been overdoing it a bit lately. Do me good 
to pull up a bit. I only suggested it to keep you 
company.” 

They sat on a garden-seat facing the tennis lawn, 
and talked for some time about school affairs, Jimmy 
showing himself less burdened by the weight of matur- 
ity as they did so. He reverted, however, to his air 
of experienced middle age when the talk veered round 
to the coming holidays, and home surroundings, and 
Young George said to him: 44 You know all the people 
living about here better than I do ! What do you 
think of the Manserghs ? ” 

44 Old Mansergh’s a grumpy old varmint,” said 
Jimmy. 44 Bit of a flyer in his youth. Of course she 
isn’t out of the top drawer, as anybody can see. She’s 
a good-natured old thing though, wherever he picked 
her up. She always wants to stuff my pockets with 
chocolate creams, even now. I like the old thing.” 

44 So do I,” said Young George. 44 She isn’t Dick’s 
or Geoffrey’s mother, though. What do you think of 
Dick? ” 

44 Not a bad sort of fellow by any means,” said 
Jimmy, 44 though a bit off-hand in his ways. Doesn’t 
take much notice of chaps younger than himself. Still, 
he’s a good sportsman, and they say he’s a jolly good 
sailor too. Bound to go up the ladder if he sticks 
to it.” 

44 He’s always been very decent to me.” 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 145 

“ Ah, that’s because he’s after B. You feel like 
that, you know, towards the brother of a girl you’ve 
taken a fancy to. I was always particularly careful to 
make myself pleasant to Bertie Pemberton. I shan’t 
take so much trouble about it now, though he’s not 
a bad chap either.” 

“ You’ve spotted it, then ! ” said Young George in 
some surprise. 

“ My dear fellow, it’s as plain as the nose on your 
face,” said Jimmy. 

“ Well, I only did yesterday. How can you have 
spotted it? You’ve hardly ever seen them together.” 

“ I saw quite enough, last holidays. The first thing 
I asked Vera when I came home this time was : 4 How’s 
that little affair between Dick Mansergh and B Graf- 
ton going? ’ ” 

44 Oh, then it was Vera who told you ! You do give 
yourself airs of knowing every damn thing, Jimmy. It 
makes one think twice about consulting you on any- 
thing.” 

44 1 was half pulling your leg,” said Jimmy, with 
unwonted meekness. 44 As a matter of fact I did no- 
tice him paying a lot of attention to B, as long ago 
as last Christmas, when we had our play. She looked 
topping that night; I could hardly keep my eyes off 
her. If I hadn’t been paying attention myself in 
another quarter — ” 

44 It would be rather a good sort of marriage for 
her,” said Young George. 44 Wilborough is a jolly 
place, and it’s only three miles from Abington. It 


146 


THE GRAFTONS 


would be jolly if she were to marry him and go and 
live there. We should see a lot of her.” 

“ There’s one thing I will say about you, George, 
^you’re a jolly good brother to your sisters. I admire 
you for it. Other fellows’ sisters are all very well, 
but it isn’t many chaps who think such a lot of their 
own as you do. I’ve half a mind to take a leaf out of 
your book, and make a bit of a fuss of mine. They’re 
not so good-looking as yours, but they’re not so bad. 
I thought Vera had improved a good lot when I came 
home.” 

There was a questioning note in his statement, but 
Young George did not catch it. “ I think they’re a 
very good-looking crowd,” he said perfunctorily. 
“ What I can’t make out is whether B has taken to 
him or not.” 

“ Ah, poor little girl ! ” said Jimmy sapiently. “ She 
was knocked over by that affair last year. I don’t 
suppose she’s ready for it again yet.” 

“ Well, you do know something, after all. That’s 
just what Caroline said when I asked her.” 

“What, that she wasn’t ready for it? You see, 
George, a girl’s first affair is pretty serious with her. 
One or two of ’em have told me that. Of course she 
thinks it’s the only one, and if she doesn’t marry the 
fellow she’ll never forget him, or care for anybody 
else, and all that sort of thing. When she’s jolly 
well got to forget him, like B, she still goes on thinking 
that it can’t happen to her again.” 

“ H’m! ” said Young George reflectively. M I’m not 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 147 


quite sure that B isn’t waking up. I’ll tell you some- 
thing if you’ll swear not to repeat it.” 

Jimmy swore. 

“ I didn’t tell Caroline. I thought I’d pump her 
first. But she wasn’t giving much away.” 

“ Women stick by one another,” commented Jimmy. 

“ Well, he rode over to lunch yesterday, and I know 
he meant to stay for the afternoon, though he didn’t 
actually say so. The Governor was up in London, 
and Caroline and the Dragon had gone over to lunch 
with Mollie Pemberton. Well, they made it pretty 
plain they didn’t want me with them afterwards. B 
was as nice as possible about it — she always is decent 
with me — but — well, I needn’t spin it out, but they 
went into the garden, and I found myself left.” 

“ Wait a minute,” said Jimmy. “ Let’s get it 
straight. It was B who got rid of you.” 

“ Well, Dick did ask me if I’d be kind enough to take 
a message up to Worthing for him, but — yes, it was 
she who got me off.” 

“ Did you go up to Worthing? ” 

“ No, I knew he was over at Wilborough. He’s agent 
there too, you know. I rather think Dick knew it as 
well as I did.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Jimmy significantly. 

“ Then B asked me to be an angel and bring her 
some work she’d been doing, which was in the Long 
Gallery. So I went up there and couldn’t find it, 
though I hunted about everywhere. At last I found it 
in her bedroom.” 


148 


THE GRAFTONS 


44 You’re jolly good to your sisters, George.” 

44 Oh, well, they’re very decent to me. I took it out, 
and they weren’t anywhere to be seen.” 

44 No, I suppose not. Well, if you ask me, I think 
it’s a pretty clear case.” 

44 1 haven’t told you everything yet. I didn’t quite 
know what to do with myself, so I thought I’d go 
exploring. There are lots of funny attics and places up 
in the roof. I found a rummy little place I’d never 
seen before, where I shouldn’t wonder if priests usen’t 
to hide.” 

44 Anything in it? ” 

44 Only a dead bat. I suppose I was up there about 
half an hour. I’d got pretty mucky, and was just 
brushing some of it off by a little window, when I saw 
Dick coming out of the stables on his horse. I didn’t 
see his face, but he looked as if he was waxy.” 

44 That would be, what — an hour after lunch? ” 

44 Yes, I should think about. Well, I came down 
the stairs from the attics into the corridor that goes 
round that corner, and there was B standing just 
behind the curtain of the window looking out after 
him.” 

44 Did she see you?” 

44 Yes, of course. She was awfully annoyed, and 
said I’d given her a fright.” 

44 What was her face like?” 

44 Well, to tell you the truth, I was so surprised at 
the way she slanged me that I didn’t take much no- 
tice — except afterwards, and then I thought it was 


YOUNG GEORGE TAKES ADVICE 149 


all jolly rum, and that there must have been some- 
thing else. And she was so decent about it after- 
wards, and said she was sorry she’d spoken to me like 
that, and asked me not to tell the others.” 

44 Ah ! ” said Jimmy. “ That tells a tale.” 

44 Well, what do you think about it?” asked Young 
George. 

44 1 think I’ll have a cigarette, after all,” said Jimmy. 
44 It helps you to think.” 

He lit one elaborately, and blew the smoke out of 
his nose with a reflective air, while Young George waited 
anxiously for the result of his deliberation. 

44 What happened was this, George,” he said. 44 He 
proposed to her, and she meant him to. But she 
wasn’t ready to give in at once, and he got annoyed. 
She gave him to understand that if he didn’t like it 
he could lump it, not thinking he’d take it seriously. 
Now, lots of men don’t know that you needn’t take 
any account of what a girl says. It’s often the op- 
posite of what she means. Girls are like that. What 
you can say is that Mansergh didn’t know enough. He 
gets shirty, and of course that simply makes her 
worse. Then he clears out, and the moment he’s gone 
she’s sorry. Was she crying, by the bye, when she 
was standing at the window?” 

44 No,” said Young George doubtfully. 44 I’m not 
sure, though, now I come to think of it, that she didn’t 
later on. She almost did when she apologised to me 
for slanging me.” 

44 Poor little girl ! ” said Jimmy tenderly. 44 It 


150 


THE GRAFTONS 


really makes you feel rather soft towards them, the 
way they show their feelings, doesn’t it? I tell you, 
Grafton, a girl could do almost anything she liked 
with me — a pretty girl, that is — if she only knew her 
power, and how to use it. Never do to let them know, 
though. I think, myself, Mansergh was quite right 
not to let her get the bulge over him in that way, and 
to cleas out.” 

“ I thought you said just now that he cleared out 
because he didn’t know enough.” 

“ Well, he needn’t have cleared out, perhaps. I 
should have shown her that it wouldn’t wash, if it 
had been me, and she’d soon have given it up. Well, 
old man, I don’t think there’s much harm done. He’ll 
come back again all right, and they’ll make it up. 
And when two people make it up, in that condition — 
well, it’s getting close on to the time for putting up 
the banns.” 

Voices were heard approaching from behind the 
shrubs, and one of them seemed to be talking a foreign 
language in a high-pitched authoritative voice, 
Jimmy hastily threw his cigarette away, and made no 
apology for doing so. “ They’ll want us to play 
tennis,” he said. “ We’d better go and get our shoes.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE SECOND LOVE 

Young George drove himself home with very pleasant 
recollections of his afternoon. He had found the Beck- 
ley girls quite humanly entertaining when out of sight 
and hearing of their 4 awful old Mademoiselle,’ and 
when Maggie Williams had joined the party they had 
all enjoyed themselves exceedingly. She was a pretty, 
lively girl, ready to amuse herself in whatever com- 
pany should be provided for her, and had made it 
plain that she particularly liked that of Young 
George. 

Young George felt that he was beginning to know 
what love really was. Memories of the way Maggie 
tossed her masses of dark hair, and looked when she 
spoke to him, out of her laughing eyes, beguiled his 
homeward journey. She was the only girl he had ever 
met worthy to be compared with his own sisters, and 
it was an addition to his pleasure that they approved 
of her. He had been a little anxious about that when 
he had first begun to think a good deal about her, 
because Jimmy had been so very contemptuous at the 
idea of taking notice of a girl of fourteen. But after 
Maggie had been over to Abington, and he had waited 
rather anxiously to hear the comments that might be 
made about her, Beatrix had said : “ Dear old boy, I 
151 


152 


THE GRAFTONS 


think you have very good taste. She’s much the pret- 
tiest girl anywhere about here, except us ; and she’s 
very nice too.” And Barbara had said : “ If I’ve got 
to lose you, Bunting, I’d as soon Maggie had you 
as anybody. I should scratch anybody else’s eyes 
out.” 

Even Jimmy seemed to have waked up to Maggie’s 
charm. He had taken a good deal more notice of her 
that afternoon than ever before, and had told Young 
George as he went off that he’d only been rotting when 
he had chaffed him about her. In the present unat- 
tached state of his affections, Young George had had a 
faint idea that Jimmy might be preparing to cut him 
out. But, although Maggie had responded frankly to 
his unusual attentions to her, it was Young George 
whose conversation and society she had obviously 
preferred. This memory gave him an agreeable sen- 
sation under the ribs as he went over the signs of it. 
Jimmy would not be able to cut him out, but it was 
satisfying to have his taste thus endorsed by a man 
of such wide experience in these affairs. 

When he had nearly reached home and was driving 
up the road through the park, he descried two figures 
strolling through the fern towards him. He recognised 
them as Dick Mansergh and Beatrix, and either some- 
thing in their attitude towards one another, although 
they were walking apart, or the thoughts upon which 
his own mind had been running, gave him the idea 
that whatever differences they may have had were at 
an end, and the engagement which he and Jimmy had 


THE SECOND LOVE 153 

agreed would be such an eminently suitable one had 
come to pass. 

And so it proved. Beatrix looked up at the sound 
of his wheels, and signalled to him, and both of them 
came across the grass to intercept him. Beatrix was 
smiling as she came up. “ Bunting, darling, we’ve been 
waiting for you,” she said. 

Dick was smiling too. “ We’ve got something to 
tell you,” he said. 

“ Congratters ! ” said Young George, rather shyly. 
“ I know what it is.” 

Then Beatrix stretched up to him and kissed him, 
and Dick looked as if he wished he had been in his 
place, but did not claim a kiss for himself. 

Young George commented upon this in a confidential 
talk with Caroline afterwards. “ He strikes me as a 
strong sort of chap, who puts control over himself,” 
he said. “ I think that’s what B wants, don’t 
you?” 

Caroline hesitated a little. “ Yes, perhaps she does,” 
she said. “ You know, Bunting, it was rather a sur- 
prise to me when it did come. I didn’t say much to 
you when you asked me yesterday, because I didn’t 
think she was ready for it yet, though I thought she 
would be sooner or later.” 

“ Don’t you think she’s in love with him, then? ” 

“ She wouldn’t want to marry him if she weren’t.” 

“ Perhaps he made her say she would. She looked 
pleased all right when she told me, but not — well, you 
know what I mean — sort of carried away.'* 


154 THE GRAFTONS 

Caroline sighed. “ I wish he’d been the first,” she 
said. 

This was immediately after Young George had come 
home. Dick had driven himself over to luncheon. She 
and Beatrix and Miss Waterhouse had been in the 
Long Gallery when his name had been brought up, and 
Beatrix had said : “ Oh, bother ! I wanted to have a 
quiet afternoon.” But over the luncheon table she had 
been in higher spirits than during the morning, when 
she had either been alone or sitting with them over 
her work, saying very little. This had given Caroline 
the idea that she was rather pleased that he had come 
over, after all, but had not in the least prepared her 
for what afterwards happened. 

They had all gone out into the garden. Tennis had 
been suggested, but it was very hot, and there were 
only three of them. They had sat and talked to- 
gether, and after a time Caroline had gone indoors, 
but not with the object of leaving them alone together. 
If he had wanted that, Beatrix had given no sign that 
she did. 

She had come out an hour later, but they had gone 
off somewhere together. Tea was in the yew arbour, 
and as she was pouring it out, for herself and Miss 
Waterhouse, they had come up, and Dick had made 
his announcement. “ Well, B and I have settled it up 
together. We’re going to get married as soon as 
they’ll let us.” 

Looking back upon what had followed, Caroline could 
not yet gauge all that lay beneath the matter-of-fact 


THE SECOND LOVE 


155 


air with which both of them treated the momentous 
event. With Dick, it was not so difficult. Probably 
Bunting had found the right solution of his steady 
unemotional way of bearing himself. He was a man 
of strong self-control, but there were signs in his 
voice and in his look that a great deal of ferment lay 
under the crust of his manner, and would become ap- 
parent if he were not under the compulsion of hiding 
it. 

But why should he have been under that compulsion 
at such a time, when love had found its triumphant 
reward, and there was no one before whom he need hide 
his exultation? 

How did Beatrix really stand towards him? She 
had always treated his obvious pursuit of her lightly, 
and never as if her heart had been in the least touched 
by his suit, though Caroline had believed that in time 
it might be. Dick had been a good deal in London 
during the latter part of the season, and he had been 
there because Beatrix was there, for it was not his 
habit to devote his leaves to a round of fashionable en- 
gagements. Beatrix had talked about him when she 
had returned home, but not as if he had made any 
further impression upon her. Nor had there been 
any difference in her attitude towards him since, 
though his visits had been more frequent and his suit 
presumably more pressing than before. 

Certainly, Caroline thought, she had not intended to 
accept him that afternoon, and if she had admitted to 
herself a possibility that she might do so, Caroline 


156 


THE GRAFTONS 


thought she would have divined it. Having accepted 
him, she was much as she had been before. She was 
bright, and contented, and complete mistress of her- 
self. She talked of their father, and of others, friends 
and relations who might be expected to be pleased at 
her news. They had already sent off telegrams, going 
down to the village themselves before tea. They had 
both talked of an early marriage, and of where they 
would live, and of what she would do while Dick was, 
at sea. She had been affectionate to Caroline, but had 
not responded to her little secret advances of love and, 
sympathy, which no one else would have noticed butf 
to which she would have answered readily enough if 
she had wanted to. 

Caroline’s heart was rather heavy. Beatrix had 
poured out all the tale of her love to her a year before, 
and afterwards relied on her more than any one to 
assuage her pain. Was she to be kept out of this new 
love altogether? Or was there no love that could be 
acknowledged and rejoiced over? Caroline would have 
little to offer if it was to be an affair of a suitable 
marriage only. Without love, it would not be so emi-> 
nently suitable. In the future Beatrix would have 
the sort of place in the world to which her birth and 
connections entitled her. But in the meantime, as 
the wife of a sailor on active service, if she were to be 
with him as much as possible, she would be cut off 
from a great deal of what she had been accustomed to,' 



On the face of it, her life would be less in accordance 


THE SECOND LOVE 157 

with her tastes as Dick’s wife than Caroline’s would 
be if she were to marry Francis Parry. And Caro- 
line had told her father that if she had loved Francis 
that wouldn’t have mattered ; she would have been 
happy with him anywhere, as Viola Prescott had been 
happy with her husband in surroundings little fitted; 
for her. But without love it would matter — surely to 
Beatrix as much as to herself. 

And Beatrix had loved so whole-heartedly and so 
tenderly, although she had had only a very short time 
to give herself up freely to the joy that had come to 
her. And after that, until the end had come, she had 
only had hope and the trust that was to be betrayed 
to uphold her ; but still she had flowered and developed 
under it. Love meant very much to her. When the 
wounds left by the destruction of her first love had 
healed sKh must love again in some happy time. She 
could not do without it. Wasn’t she laying up unhap- 
piness for herself in taking a love that she could not 
return in full measure? And was it fair to the man 
who would want from her everything that it was in 
her to give to one whom she should love as she had 
loved once already? 

Dick stayed to dinner, and the Prescotts came, and 
there w r as an air of excitement and anticipatory pleas- 
ure over the whole evening. Beatrix was in much higher 
spirits than she had been after the news had been 
broken to Caroline and Miss Waterhouse at tea time. 
She was flushed and sparkling, and talked continuously. 
Nor did she withhold from her lover those signs which 


158 


THE GRAFTONS 


are so sweet to one who has gained the fulfilment of 
his hopes, when he has to share his loved one with 
others, but is made to feel that there is much for him 
alone. Dick’s self-control was not so much in evidence 
now, however cautiously he seemed to be testing the ice 
of his happiness and. finding it to bear. As a newly 
engaged couple they fully satisfied Viola Prescott, 
who said to Caroline in a confidential aside after din- 
ner : “ Isn’t she adorable over it ? I’ve never seen her 
look so lovely before. It’s happiness that does it 
all.” 

But Caroline still bore a weight on her heart. She 
and Beatrix had been alone together for a short time 
before dinner, and Beatrix had given her some confi- 
dences. But they had not been such as to lighten the 
weight. “ He’s such a dear ! ” she had said. “ I really 
had to accept him, though I hadn’t meant to just yet. 
Now I’m glad I have. And I’m sure darling old Dad 
will be pleased.” 

These were not the confidences that she had given 
Caroline after her engagement to Lassigny. Their 
father had not been pleased, but his displeasure had 
not stemmed the outpourings of love. Now it seemed 
that to please him was of paramount importance. No 
answering telegram had come from him, and when 
Dick and the Prescotts had taken their departure Bea- 
trix showed herself disturbed by this. 

“ Surely he can’t be angry this time,” she said, “ be- 
cause Dick didn’t ask him first, I mean. That’s what 
he didn’t like — before. But he must have known 


THE SECOND LOVE 159 

/ 

that Dick was coming here because of me, and he never 
tried to stop it, or said anything about it.” 

Caroline and Miss Waterhouse both reassured her.v 
The telegram had gone to the Bank — not very early in 
the afternoon. He must have left before it came ; and 
it had not been forwarded to him, or else it had not 
found him before the offices closed. 

She came to Caroline’s room for those preparations 1 
for the night which they made together when they 
wanted to talk. But there were no more confidences 
(of any sort. It was her father whom she still talked of 
in connection with her engagement and marriage. And 
she talked of her marriage more than of her engage- 
ment, which she seemed to want cut short. With Las- 
jsigny she had been quite content to wait. She had' 
\talked very little of marriage, and had seemed to have 
formed no clear picture in her mind of what her life 
with him would be. She loved him and he loved her* 
and that was enough. 

66 Dick says I can come home as much as I like, while 
he is at sea. I know Dad will want to have me. I 
wish he had telegraphed. He won’t think I don’t love 
him as much as ever because I am going to leave him, 
will he? I love him a thousand times more. I told 
Dick he must never take me away from him for very 
long.” 

“What does Dick feel about Dad?” asked Caro- 
line, remembering what her father had said to her on 
that subject when they had ridden together. 

“ Oh, he loves him. He told me he had first come 


160 THE GRAFTONS 

over here because he liked him so much. It wasn’t 
me until later — not very much later, though. It was 
nearly love at first sight, but not quite. He says he 
doesn’t think there is such a thing really. If there is 
it isn’t the best sort of love, because it’s only what a 
person looks like. I’m rather frightened, you know, 
finding what sort of person Dick thinks I am. I hope 
I shall be able to live up to it.” 

“ It won’t want living up to, darling, if you love, 
him. You’ll only have to be yourself. That would be 
enough for any man.” 

Beatrix flung her arms round her neck and kissed 
her warmly. “ You know I’m not perfect, darling,” she 
said. “ But you love me all the same, don’t you? ” 

For a moment, as she clung to her, Caroline thought 
that there were to be the real confidences for which 
she was aching. She returned her embrace, with her 
heart in her throat. But Beatrix drew herself away. 
“ He does love me ; and I love him,” she said, with an 
air of finality. But there had been ever so little of a 
pause between the two statements. 

Grafton’s telegram came early the next morning, 
“Delighted, my darling; love and blessings. Have 
wired to Dick, shall be down this evening. Bring him 
to meet me.” 

It was Thursday, and he had not intended to come, 
down until the following day. There was no doubts 
about the pleasure the news had given him. Beatrix 
went about the house singing. 

Late that evening Caroline came down to talk to 


THE SECOND LOVE 


161 


her father, who was reading in the library over a last 
pipe. One of the signs of his changed habits was the 
considerable diminution of his cigar bill. 

He looked up with a smile of pleasure. “ Why, my 
darling child,” he said, “ I thought you were in bed 
long ago. Have you been talking it all over with B? ” 

“ No,” she said. “ I thought I’d come and talk it 
all over with you, Dad.” 

He laid aside his book. “ Well, it’s all very satis- 
factory, isn’t it?” he said. “ Rather different from 
last time! We weren’t in such a happy state a year 
ago.” ; 

“It wasn’t quite a year ago,” she said. “And it 
isn’t six months ago since she was so much in love with 
somebody else.” 

“ I know. I knew she’d get over it. But I confess 
I didn’t think she’d get over it quite so quickly.” 

She didn’t reply. He looked at her, and asked: 
“ What’s the matter, darling? Aren’t you pleased 
about it? She has got over that other business, hasn’t 
she? ” 

“ If you mean, does she love him any more, of course 
she doesn’t. But I don’t think she has got over it all 
the same. It has altered her.” 

She had drawn a chair close up to his and was lean- 
ing against it. He took her hand. “ Darling child,” 
he said, “ you’re too sensitive. You’re feeling losing 
her. She hasn’t talked to you enough about it. But 
she will, you know, when she has settled down.” 

“ She has talked to you, hasn’t she, Dad? ” 


162 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Yes, she’s talked to me. Nobody could have been 
sweeter than she was. I’m very lucky in my daughters, 
Cara. Both of you — all three of you — know that you 
can come to me and tell me about these things that 
girls don’t usually confide to their fathers. You’ve 
done it, and now B has done it. She didn’t do it last 
time. That shows what a right marriage this is, and 
what a wrong one that would have been.” 

“ She would have done it, last time, darling, if you 
hadn’t stopped it.” 

His pressure on her hand that he was holding re- 
laxed. “ Surely — ” he began, but she caught him up 
hurriedly : 66 Oh, I don’t mean that you weren’t right 
to stop it ; but how has she talked to you about Dick 
— and her engagement to him?” 

He smiled, and gave her hand a little squeeze. “ Why, 
just in the way that would most please an affection- 
ate parent,” he said. “ I like Dick immensely ; I think 
he’s a fine fellow, and there’s a lot more in him than 
appears on the surface. But she spared me rhapsodies 
about him. She knew, I suppose, that I could take all 
that for granted, and should be soothed by being made 
to feel that I hadn’t got to give up everything to him. 
She’s my darling child still, and always will be. And, 
as I told you, I like Dick well enough to take him in. 
They’ll both be to me what your dear mother and I 
were to her father. I don’t think I could love B any 
more than I do now. But though I’m giving her up 
I shan’t love her any less. And I shan’t mind giving 
her up. I’m happier — for my own sake — about her 


THE SECOND LOVE 163 

than I was when I first had her news. She has what 
she wants to make her happy, and she has given me 
all I want to make me happy.” 

“ I’m so glad, Dad,” she said. “ And though I sup- 
pose she’ll be away a lot just at first, by and bye they 
will be living here, and you’ll see as much of her as 
you want.” 

She led him on to talk of the surface facts of the 
engagement. The marriage would take place, and it 
was well for him that he thought as he did about it. 
She had wondered if he would see, as she thought she 
saw, that Beatrix was fixing her own mind upon those 
surface facts, and what his wisdom would make of her 
chance of happiness if she had not brought the deep 
love that she had it in her to bring to her betrothal. 
But he had not seen it, though what he was pleased 
with in her confidences to him only confirmed Caro- 
line’s own mistrust. The rhapsodies that she had dis- 
pensed him from listening to would surely have been 
sounded if the impulse towards them had been there. 
She would have asked for his loving sympathy in what 
filled her own mind, and shown her love for him in 
asking for it just as much as by assuring him of that 
love. 

But she was glad for his sake that he had seen noth- 
ing. She kissed him good-night, and said : “ When B 
goes there’ll only be you and me, Daddy, till Barbara 
comes home. I shan’t leave you for a long time yet.” 


CHAPTER XII 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 

It was nearly twelve o’clock when Caroline went up 
to her room. Her mind was calmed by her talk with 
her father. She loved him so much that his content- 
ment could hardly fail of some reflection in her. And, 
though jealousy was far removed from her, it gave 
her pleasure to think that when Beatrix had left him 
he would need her love and companionship more. Per- 
haps it was, as he had said, she was feeling hurt that 
Beatrix had not come to her for the deep love and 
sympathy that was there for her in her joys as well 
as in her troubles. Although her sympathies had not 
been undivided in that trouble of a year ago, for she 
had believed that her father had been right and had 
felt for him during a period of something like es- 
trangement as much as she had felt for Beatrix in being 
parted from her lover, still her heart had beaten much 
closer to her sister’s then than it did now. Beatrix had 
leant upon her. She had been wayward ; perhaps 
she had even been selfish. She had often hurt Caro- 
line, when the hurt in herself had made her hard and 
unreasonable towards all but the one who could then 
have assuaged it. But Caroline had gone through it 
all with her, and loved her all the more for having 
shared her pain. It was rather hard if she was to 
164 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 165 


be held at arm’s length now, after having given so 
much, and being ready to give so much. 

Her sadness came upon her again when she had shut 
herself into her room and made ready for bed. She 
heard her father go upstairs, and the house became 
quite still. The clock of the church began to strike, 
and the clock on the stable turret chimed in on a 
fainter, quicker note. Before they had finished, the 
door of her room opened and startled her wildly. It 
was Beatrix, who came in, a figure all in white, and 
threw herself into her arms, and clung to her sobbing. 

For a moment Caroline felt giddy with the shock of 
her surprise, and the fear of what was coming. But 
she rallied herself and murmuring soft words drew 
Beatrix to the bed and sat there holding her to her 
breast. 

“ I’ve been such an awful beast to you, darling,” 
Beatrix sobbed, “ I had to come and ask you to forgive 
me. I couldn’t sleep till I told you how much I love 
you.” 

The childish confession made Caroline inclined to 
laugh and cry at the same time, but brought with it 
such a sense of relief as was almost bliss to her trou- 
bled mind. 

“ I know you have wanted me to tell you everything,” 
Beatrix went on, her sobs becoming less frequent, 
“ and I’ve wanted to all the time. But something 
horrid in me kept it back, and I know I’ve hurt you 
frightfully, darling, and I shall never forgive myself 
for it as long as I live.” 


166 


THE GRAFTONS 


Caroline swept the hair from her forehead and kissed 
her lovingly, as her mother might have done. She 
felt immeasurably older than her sister, who seemed to 
her a little child again. “ If you tell me now, my 
darling ! ” she said tenderly. 

Beatrix sat up, and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of 
Caroline’s light dressing-gown. “ Yes, I will. I want 
to,” she said, in a pathetic voice. “ It’s only you I 
can tell everything to.” 

She bent her head and played with the ribbon that 
lay across Caroline’s knee. “ I know what you have 
thought,” she said. “ I didn’t seem to be noticing, 
or to care, but I felt it all through me all the time. I 
couldn’t be such a hard-hearted beast as not to mind 
what you were thinking, darling.” 

A few more tears and answering caresses, and she 
told her story, with her head on Caroline’s shoulder, 
and Caroline’s arm round her. 

“ I don’t think I’ve behaved very well to Dick,” she 
said. “ I knew that he loved me very much, and yet 
I played with him. Perhaps I even led him on. But I 
didn’t know how much he really did love me, or I 
wouldn’t have done it. He’s so strong and so deep; 
it was like playing with fire. Perhaps I didn’t do any- 
thing very wrong till two days ago, for though I’d let 
him talk to me I hadn’t given him any idea that I — 
that I wanted him to go any further. He has told me 
since that he would never have asked me to marry 
him unless I had said or done something to make him 
think that he could. I suppose I saw that it was like 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 167 

that. I felt, somehow, that he was trying to bend me 
to his will — no, not that, but there was something in 
him that I couldn’t move. And that vexed me. Oh, 
I was a beast! We went into the garden; I’d sent 
Bunting away so that I could show him I wanted to be 
alone with him. Then I led him on to tell me that he 
loved me ; and at last he did. Then — oh, I hate myself 
for what I did.” 

She stopped, and cried again on Caroline’s shoul- 
der. Caroline soothed her, but felt her heart growing 
heavy again. 

“ Well, I must tell you everything,” she began again, 
“ but I wish I hadn’t got it to tell. It spoils every- 
thing. When he told me that he loved me, and asked 
me to marry him, I pretended to be very surprised, 
and said that I’d no idea of marrying him. He was 
very quiet, and let me go on. I said I didn’t love him ; 
I had had enough of that sort of love, and only loved 
you, and Dad, and the others. I can’t think what 
made me go on like that. I was a fool. But he stopped 
me suddenly. He was very angry. He said I had 
known quite well that he would say what he had, and 
that I had meant him to, and that I wasn’t what he 
had thought I was. Then he went away, without say- 
ing good-bye or anything. 

“ I was frightened then, and — and ashamed of my- 
self, because what he had said was true. And I didn’t 
want him to go away altogether. I thought perhaps 
after all I did love him a little. Oh, I don’t know 
what I thought. But I went upstairs to the window 


168 


THE GRAFTONS 


to look at him coming from the stables — he had ridden 
over — and to see what he looked like. And Bunting 
came down from the attic and caught me there, but of 
course he didn’t know what I was doing, and he startled 
me so much that I flew out at him.” 

She laughed a little. “Poor darling Bunting!” 
she said. “ I startled him . I don’t think he has 
ever seen me like that before. But I told him I was 
sorry afterwards, and he was awfully sweet about it 
and said it didn’t matter a damn. I think he’d have 
been still more surprised if he’d known what I was 
there for. Fortunately he wasn’t near enough to the 
window to see Dick. 

“ Well, then, I was rather miserable, but I was 
angry too at the way he had spoken to me. Some- 
times I was one and sometimes I was the other, and 
I didn’t know whether I cared for him or not. The 
next morning it had all calmed down rather, and I 
made up my mind I wouldn’t care whether he came 
back or not, and that if he did I would behave just as 
I had before, and pretend that nothing had happened. 
I don’t know whether I should have been able to keep 
that up if he hadn’t come to lunch next day. When 
Jarvis brought up his name I was glad, though I don’t 
think I showed it, did I? ” 

Caroline reminded her of what she had said, and 
she smiled and said she thought she had hidden it very 
well, and by the way he behaved she thought he in- 
tended to ignore what had happened too. 

" I was a little frightened when you went indoors 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 169 


and left me alone with him,” she said. “ But for some 
time he went on talking as if he had forgotten every- 
thing, and I was rather grateful to him, and felt that 
I did like him very much. He’s so strong and — and 
self-controlled; and I admire strong men, who won’t 
let you play with them. I had had enough of that. I 
didn’t want to play with him any more, and I wanted 
him to see that I was sorry, without having to say so. 
So I suppose I was extra nice to him. And I did 
want him at least as a friend. 

“ Then suddenly he said something. That’s his 
way — when you’re not expecting it. He said perhaps 
he’d made a mistake about me yesterday, but he didn’t 
think he’d been altogether mistaken. If I didn’t love 
him very much now, he wanted me all the same, and 
he was sure he could make me happy. Would I marry 
him and let him try? 

“ It was the last thing I expected. I didn’t know 
what to say or what to think. Then he said that he 
shouldn’t worry me with love-making until I was 
ready for it. He said in his quiet deep sort of way, 
6 When you are, my dear, you’ll have all you can want,’ 
and he made me feel, somehow, that perhaps I should 
come to want it — from him, I mean.” 

She stopped for a moment as if she were examining 
herself. “ I can’t think now what made me say, yes,” 
she said. “ I didn’t feel in the least like I did when I 
— when I said yes, before. I think if he had — had 
kissed me, or treated me as if I had already given him 
everything, I should have drawn back, perhaps run 


170 


THE GRAFTONS 


away from him. But he just took both my hands, 
and looked me straight in the face and said : 4 Thank 
you ; I promise you that you shall never be sorry for 
it . 5 Oh, he is good — and strong. I think I do love 
him. If you’d seen the look in his eyes! It touched 
me, and made me want to cry. I think if he had kissed 
me then, I shouldn’t have minded.” 

“Hasn’t he kissed you at all?” Caroline asked. 
The heaviness of heart which the beginning of the story 
had brought her had lightened. It would not have 
been told her in just that way if Beatrix had come to 
her to ask her help in extricating herself from an im- 
possible position. And yet she had been inclined to 
think that it had been all a mistake, and had better 
be ended, for the sake of Beatrix’s happiness. 

“ I’m coming to that, darling. You must let me 
tell it to you all as it happened.” 

Caroline kissed her again. As her heart grew lighter, 
the channels of her love were clearing. 

“ We went and walked in the garden,” Beatrix went 
on. “We talked about what we would do when we 
were married — where we should live, and all that. I 
felt quite pleased and excited. It was something going 
to happen. I think only one part of me was working. 
And I felt as if I’d come to anchor. You know, dar- 
ling, I haven't enjoyed myself this year, as I did last. 
That had spoilt everything for me. I think if I had 
lived quietly at home, as you have, it might have been 
different. But I’m rather tired of going about, and 
remembering that all the time. I don’t want him any 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 171 


longer — of course. I hate him. But what I thought 
he was — having somebody all my own who would love 
me, and I would do all I could to make him happy — I 
suppose if you’ve once wanted that you always want 
it ; and a home of your own, and children of your own 
to love.” 

“ Yes, I know, dearest,” said Caroline softly. She 
was longing to come to the point at which Beatrix 
might show her that all that, which lies before women 
made of their clay as the ultimate end of their lives, 
would come to Beatrix through the only gate which 
leads to its perfect fulfilment. She had thought at 
one time that it might be taken by a deliberate choice 
of a partner, and that the love that would sweeten 
it might come afterwards. But she thought differ- 
ently now. Beatrix herself had taught her. That first 
love of hers, broken off as it had been, had been the 
right beginning ; it would have led her through the only 
gate. Would this second adventure take her into the 
right path? If not, she might get much in life that 
would satisfy her; she would bend herself to it, and 
the world might not see that she had not all. But it 
would change her. She would not grow to the full 
stature of her true womanhood. Secondary things 
would be put above primary, for primary things 
would be out of her reach. It was not for such a 
one as Beatrix to make a merely satisfactory mar- 
riage. 

The word she had been longing for came sooner 
than she had expected. “ I won’t go over it all any 


172 


THE GRAFTONS 


more,” Beatrix said. “ You saw what I was all last 
night and all to-day. I thought I should be able to 
keep it up, but I know now I couldn’t have. Some- 
times when I have been with him I felt like crying, 
because he was so matter-of-fact about everything, and 
I knew he wasn’t really feeling like that, but was 
longing for me to give him a chance of being different. 
But I remembered what I had done before, and I 
wasn’t sure that I really wanted him to — to make love 
to me. 

“ It was when he went away to-night. You know I 
went to see him out. I think if he had gone as he did 
last night — just as if we weren’t engaged at all — I 
couldn’t have gone on with it, I was feeling so miser- 
able. Perhaps I looked at him in a way that showed 
him; for he looked at me as he was saying good-night. 
I saw by his eyes how much he loved me, and he kissed 
me very gently, on the forehead, and called me some- 
thing sweet which I won’t tell you; and then he went 
away.” 

“ Oh, darling, I’m so glad,” said Caroline. u I 
know by the way you tell me that it was what you really 
wanted all the time, wasn’t it P ” 

“ I don’t know whether I did want it all the time. 
I know I should have been miserable if he had gone 
away without. And I wished when I’d gone upstairs 
that I’d given him something in return, some sign 
just to show that I didn’t want him to goi back 
to that horrid cold talk of to-day and yesterday. Do 
you think he will? He’s not so frightfully strong, after 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 173 


all. I’m sure he never meant to show me what he did. 
He couldn’t keep it under.” 

Caroline laughed gently at her. “ Yes, he is strong,” 
she said, “ with the right sort of strength. He 
wouldn’t have shown you that, if you hadn’t shown 
him something first. Oh, darling, you do love him, 
don’t you? You wouldn’t be going to marry him if 
you didn’t.” 

Beatrix didn’t answer at once. “ I suppose I’m 
frightened to let myself go,” she said. “ I did before, 
and it’s as if something had got stopped up in me. 
I don’t feel towards him as I did, and with him , though 
I admire and trust him a thousand times more. Will 
it come, Cara, dear? Can I go on, without doing him 
harm? He’s so good and so fine, he ought to have 
somebody who would simply worship him, and think 
of nobody else ; not somebody who has already thought 
of somebody else, somebody not to be compared with 
him.” 

Caroline wouldn’t tell her that she thought it would 
all come. She knew it would, because now she saw that 
it was already there, though it was struggling for life 
through the dead waste of a once living but now with- 
ered love. “ It’s what you feel now, darling, that 
matters,” she said. “ I think something has been go- 
ing on in you all the time that you can’t recognise, 
because it’s different from what it was.” 

“Do you think that’s it?” she asked rather pa- 
thetically. “ I hope it is. It isn’t that I want all that 
to come back, though it did make me very happy while 


174 


THE GRAFTONS 


it lasted. But I don’t want to disappoint him. I 
don’t want to give him something, just because I 
feel like it for the moment, and then take it away 
again.” 

“ If you give him something because you feel like 
it — well, that’s just what you’ll be right in doing, 
darling. It wouldn’t be right to hold it back. If 
you feel like it at any time, it shows it’s there. I’m 
sure he’s worth loving, B.” 

“ Oh, yes, he is. I think I do love him. I know I 
want him to come back to-morrow.” 

Those were the words that rang in Caroline’s ears 
when Beatrix had left her, comforted, and assured 
of her forgiveness for the horrid way in which she 
had behaved herself towards her. Poor little B! It 
would all have been so different if this had been the 
first time she had trodden the happy path of love. 
She was all softness and sweetness, made to capitulate 
to a strong man’s wooing. But she had been bruised 
and torn, and there were sensitive places in her which 
shrank from the lightest touch. Her lover would not 
get the full response from her until he had taught her 
not to fear his touch on them. 

But she wanted him to come back. Her heart was 
fluttering out to meet him. Its wings would grow 
stronger. 

He came early the next morning. He had walked the 
three miles from Wilborough, where breakfast was 
earlier than at Abington, because any other mode of 
progression would have brought him there before it 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 175 


was convenient, and yet he wanted to be moving*. 
Beatrix had gone down the ferny glade towards the 
gate in the wall that led into the park, not expecting 
to meet him so soon, but because she also felt it neces- 
sary to be in motion, and that was the way he would 
probably come. 

She was close upon the gate when he opened it and 
came through. His face looked as if it had been sud- 
denly struck with a bright light as he saw her. But 
he hesitated a moment before he spoke. He was still 
putting constraint on himself. 

She saw the sudden bright look, and the change, 
and it moved her profoundly. She was rather taken 
by surprise too, for she had not expected to see him, 
though she had come down through the park with no 
other purpose. But she smiled at him and said : 
44 Here I am, you see, waiting for you.” 

Was it an invitation? He couldn’t tell. He had not 
been prepared for it. He smiled at her in return. 
44 You won’t often have to wait for me,” he said. 44 If 
I had thought you would be out so early I would have 
motored over.” 

Then she turned, and they walked slowly back to- 
wards the house together. At first both of them 
were at a loss what to say. 

She slipped her hand into his arm. It came natural 
to her to do so ; it was so she walked with her father, 
and she no longer felt afraid of Dick. He was de- 
pendent on her, and he was her friend. 

He flushed under his brown skin, and looked down 


176 


THE GRAFTONS 


at her. She was not wearing her hat with the broad 
brim to-day, and he could see her face. Since he had 
gained her promise he had seen it excited, merry, 
pleased sometimes, sometimes it had hurt him to think 
a little frightened, and once, as it had thrilled him 
all through the night to remember, appealing. But 
he had not seen it smooth and calm as it was now. The 
attitude of both of them seemed to be reversed. It was 
she who was sure of herself, and he who was in pertur- 
bation. 

“ We’ll have a long day together,” she said. “ We’ll 
do whatever you like. Would you like to fish? If so, 
I’ll be your gillie. I often land Dad’s fish for him, 
and I know exactly what to do.” 

All he said was, “ Yes, I should like that,” but his 
voice trembled, and his happiness was almost too much 
for him. She was offering him that sweet confiding 
companionship which he had thought he would only 
attain to through long and troubled effort, when by 
difficult repression of his strong desires he should 
have taught her that she might safely give it to him. 
If he could have it now, offered to him of her own free- 
will, surely the rest would come ! But he could wait ; 
he could wait for a long time if he might have this. 

To all outward seeming they might have been mar- 
ried for months, and reached that happy state in 
which perfect community of taste and understanding 
doubles the pleasure of any common pursuit, as they 
followed the stream and tempted the trout in its pools 
and shallows. Beatrix was as eager and interested as 


CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 177 


if she had been fishing with her father, and as merry 
and talkative. He loved her so like that, and was so 
happy with her that he sometimes forgot how much 
he loved her. He seemed to forget it altogether when 
at last he hooked a big fish, and drew it towards the 
bank, and she was not clever enough in manipulating 
her landing net. He ordered her about as if she had 
been a small boy, and rather a stupid one, and when 
the fish was landed and was lying on the grass with 
its gills opening and shutting, she burst out laughing. 
“ If that's the way you’re going to treat me ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

She looked so adorable, her face flushed and her eyes 
sparkling, that all his prudent resolves vanished. He 
caught her and kissed her, just once, and let her go. 
“ That’s the way I’m going to treat you,” he said, 
“ and you’ve got to learn to put up with it.” 

She was taken by surprise. She looked at him, and 
then she smiled. “ I think I shall learn in time,” she 
said. 


CHAPTER XIII 


PARIS 

Grafton went over to Paris to fetch Barbara, and 
Caroline and Young George went with him. It 
was decided almost at the last minute. Young George 
had no particular opinion of foreign parts, and was 
enjoying every moment of his time at home. But 
Jimmy, who came over on Friday to pay a formal call 
of congratulation to Beatrix, advised him not to be 
an ass. “ A couple of days in Paris clears the cob- 
webs off a man’s brain,” he said. 66 England’s the best 
place in the world, of bourse, but you’re apt to get 
provincial if you don’t run over to France occasion- 
ally. You see things from a different point of view.” 
So Young George was persuaded. They would only 
be away from Saturday till Monday, and on the whole 
it would be rather a lark. He wanted to see Barbara 
too. There were lots of things to talk to her about, 
and he had never before come home for his holidays 
without finding her there to meet him. He had missed 
her during the first few days, more than he would have 
thought possible. 

They arrived in Paris in the afternoon and descended 
at the Meurice. Leaving Caroline and her maid there, 
Grafton and Young George went off in a taxi-auto to 
collect Barbara from her 6 family 9 which, though 
178 


PARIS 


179 


somewhat decayed in fortune, still inhabited its ances- 
tral hotel in the Faubourg Saint Germain. There was 
a Monsieur le Comte and a Madame la Comtesse, and 
a daughter of about Barbara’s age. There were also 
half a dozen young English girls whom Madame la 
Comtesse made a great favour of receiving, but whose 
parents contributed the bulk of the income necessary 
to keep up the ancient dignity of the name. It was 
the genuine French family life which these English 
girls, also of irreproachable ancestry — that was a sine 
qua non , or announced to be — were invited to share, 
and which Barbara said was as dull as ditchwater. 
They had their professors, and were taken about here 
and there, and they talked French. English was not 
permitted. Not a word was allowed to be spoken 
even among themselves, except as a special concession 
going to and from church on Sundays. As none of 
them were Catholics, Madame probably thought the 
greater sin might on these occasions include the lesser. 

Barbara had altered ; not in her affectionate impetu- 
ousness, for she almost overwhelmed her father and 
brother with the warmth of her embraces. But her 
hair, if not yet 4 up ’ was no longer 4 down.’ She had 
grown taller and slimmer; she wore her pretty clothes 
as if she took an interest in them; and her speech and 
manner were the tiniest little bit affected by her three 
months’ absence from English influences, though this 
she indignantly denied when Young George taxed her 
with putting on French frills. 

44 But as for French frills,” she said, 44 there will be 


180 


THE GRAFTONS 


something to be said about that later, but not to eithei 
of you. Why didn’t my darling Caroline come to fetch 
me? Oh, I am glad to see you, my darling old Daddy, 
and you too, my adorable Bunting. I wish the taxi 
was closed; I’d hug you both again. I haven’t had 
half enough yet.” 

They had already told her about Beatrix’s engage- 
ment, and she had expressed herself delighted. Now 
she wanted to hear more, and there was not much 
more to tell her. 44 Oh, well, I’ll get it all out of 
Caroline,” she said. 44 How’s that little ass Jimmy 
Beckley ? ” 

44 You’ll be able to talk French to him. He’s jolly 
good at it,” said Young George. 

44 1 don't think,” said Barbara. 44 No more French 
till I come back here. Oh, how lovely it is to be going 
home! Can’t we start to-morrow, Dad?” 

44 What do you think we’ve come here for? ” asked 
Grafton. 44 We are going to enjoy ourselves.” 

44 Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that Paris was supposed 
to be a gay city. I think it’s the dullest hole in the 
world. Look, there’s the Odeon. Oh, what a thing to 
call itself a theatre! We get taken there, you know. 
We saw 4 Esther ’ last week. It was like going to 
church. Are we going to see something amusing to- 
night, Dad? I believe there are amusing theatres to 
go to in Paris.” 

44 1 believe there are,” said Grafton. 44 Yes, we’ll go 
somewhere.” 

44 1 say, you know, this isn’t half bad,” said Young 


PARIS 


181 


George as they sped across the Tuileries gardens, with 
the great purple mass of the Louvre on one side of 
them and the gay flower beds on the other, with the 
long vista up to the Arc de Triomphe. “ I like it bet- 
ter than Hyde Park.” Which was a great concession 
for so sturdy an Englishman. 

“ There’s a concert every afternoon in a sort of 
open-air theatre,” said Barbara. “ We go there some- 
times. Perhaps I shouldn’t mind Paris so much if I 
weren’t in a family. But how joyful it will be to get 
back to England again ! I’m longing for bacon for 
breakfast. I think French food is much overrated.” 

They dined early, at the fi Ambassadeurs,’ and Bar- 
bara said that the food was better than she was ac- 
customed to. They were a merry, talkative quartette, 
and people looked at them admiringly and talked about 
them. Those young English girls, with their fair hair 
and their delicious colouring — when they began to be 
beautiful they almost exaggerated it. There were not 
a few who would have liked to make the entente coraiale 
that evening with this English group. 

They went to the Opera Comique and heard 4 Louise,’ 
that poignant story in w r hich a daughter’s love brings 
a father’s sorrow. They were all fond of music and 
knew something about it, even Young George, who 
had asked for an opera rather than a play. He 
and Barbara chatted gaily between the acts, but Caro- 
line, whose sensitive fibre responded to the emotion of 
those she loved, divined that her father was moved 
by the music, and the unfolding of the story. Before 


182 


THE GRAFTONS 


the last act, in which Louise finally forsakes the father 
who has loved her and whom she has loved, dying in his 
room, Grafton said : “ I think I’ve had enough, I’ll 
stay outside and smoke; and wait for you.” 

He and Caroline had read what was coming, sitting 
in a corner of the foyer. “ Let’s all go home,” she 
said. u I expect Barbara and Bunting would just as 
soon. They have lots to talk about.” 

Barbara and Bunting made no objection, and as it 
was still early they went to supper at Henry’s round 
the corner. Barbara said that evidently Madame la 
Comtesse didn’t know what cooking was. 

When Caroline and Barbara were alone that night, 
Barbara said: “That was rather a beastly play for 
Dad to see. I suppose that’s why we came away before 
the end. I hope B isn’t behaving towards him as she 
did last time.” 

Caroline was surprised. She had not credited Bar- 
bara with that amount of intuition. “ No, he’s happy 
about B,” she said. “ And he likes Dick immensely.” 

“ I said it would be B when we first set eyes on Dick, 
you know,” Barbara said. 

Caroline remembered that she had, and laughed. 
“ You’re very far-sighted, darling,” she said. 

“ Well, I do keep my eyes open,” said Barbara. “ I 
know I’m a jeune file , and all that sort of thing, but 
I’m not a jeune fool. I suppose Louise wasn’t married 
to that posturing poopstick?” 

Caroline did not reply to this question. “ It was 
rather tQQ sad,” she said, “ though the music was 


PARIS 183 

lovely. I think I should have stuck to the nice old 
father if I’d been Louise.” 

“ I’m quite sure I should,” said Barbara. “ I think 
the whole business is awful tommy-rot.” 

Caroline imagined her to be commenting upon the 
emotions and attractions of love, and left it there. 

The next day they motored out to Versailles, lunched 
there, and saw the fountains play, and the crowds. On 
their way back they had tea at a restaurant in the Bois, 
and saw more crowds. In the evening they went out to 
the Parc Montsouris, on the very outskirts of Paris, 
and dined there in the open. 

“ Food and people,” said Barbara. “ Food and 
people all the time. Now I know what Paris really 
means.” 

The little restaurant on the edge of the Parc Mont- 
souris is not very widely known, and the park itself is 
right away from everywhere. There were half a dozen 
tables laid on the verandah, and some people already 
dining there. But they were not of the highest 
fashion, which forsakes Paris in the month of 
August. 

They went to feed the ducks by the lake, while their 
dinner was being prepared. As they came back a man 
and a woman came out on to the verandah with the 
patron in deferential attendance. The man was in 
evening dress, and the woman beautifully gowned. It 
was she who was doing the talking, in the most voluble 
of Parisian French, while the patron was shrugging 
his shoulders and answering her with a sly, quick 

X 


184 THE GRAFTONS 

manner, apparently annoying to her, but amusing to 
her companion. 

He had his back half turned towards the Graftons, 
but as they approached the verandah he moved. It 
was Lassigny, and he saw them as plainly as they all 
saw him. 

“ We’ll go across the bridge,” said Grafton. “ I 
don’t suppose dinner’s quite ready yet.” He turned 
his back on the restaurant, and his children followed 
him. 

They saw by his face, which was dark and angry, 
that he wanted nothing said about the meeting. When 
they came back a little later, their dinner was ready, 
but Lassigny and his companion were not there. 

The incident was soon forgotten by Barbara and 
Young George as they all made merry over their meal. 
But Caroline knew that her father had been deeply 
disturbed by it, in spite of his successful efforts to 
amuse them. She saw once or twice that reminiscent 
frowning look come over his face which she had only 
known during the time that Beatrix had been waiting 
for Lassigny. He had never worn it before, nor 
since the news of Lassigny’s marriage in America had 
come to them and broken it all off short. It troubled 
her to see it again now. Surely he must know that 
it was all over with Beatrix! It was awkward having 
met Lassigny like that. But they would not see him 
again, or, if they did in London, they need take no 
notice of him. Apparently that was what he wished, 
as well as her father. 


PARIS 


185 


The dusk came on, and the park emptied itself. The 
lawns and the water seen between the tree trunks were 
silvered by the moon to mysterious beauty. “ It’s like 
a scene in a play,” said Barbara. “ Do let’s have one 
more little walk round, Dad.” 

She and Young George hurried off to the lake, 
while Grafton paid the bill, and Caroline stayed with 
him. Then they followed the other two. 

Caroline slipped her hand into her father’s arm. 
“ Darling,” she said, “ don’t let it worry you — meet- 
ing him. It’s bound to have happened some time or 
other. We’ve got it over now.” 

“ I’m glad B wasn’t here,” was all he said. 

“ So am I. But if she had wanted curing, I think 
that would have cured her. Fancy choosing that for 
his wife, after knowing B !” 

“ It wasn’t his wife,” he said quickly. 

Caroline was silent, blushing to the roots of her 
hair in the darkness. Then she said : “ I think I should 
have come to know that — afterwards. I felt there 
was something. Oh, Dad, supposing it had been B he 
had married, and that had happened ! ” 

“ Yes,” he said. “ And your Aunt Katharine and 
Mary and the rest of them were all at me for trying 
to stop it. And B almost cut herself off from me, 
because — because I knew what would happen if she 
did marry him.” 

She was struck with compunction because she also 
had thought him not altogether reasonable in his dis- 
like for Lassigny, whom he had not disliked, but had 


186 


THE GRAFTONS 


invited to his house, before his engagement to Beatrix. 
She had liked him herself, and had known him longer 
than Beatrix had. Now she had a horror of him. All 
her soul, unsullied by the thought of evil, revolted 
against what had been forced upon it. Her father 
had known all along what he was. It had not pre- 
vented his treating him as a friend, or permitting 
him to associate with his daughters. She put that fact 
away in her mind, for consideration later. But he 
too had revolted, when it had come to giving up one 
of his daughters to him. And yet, as he had said, 
all the pressure had been against him, and if Lassigny 
had come back for Beatrix at the end of the six 
months in which it had been agreed he was not to see 
her, he would have given her up to him. 

What were men like, under the surface they pre- 
sented to the women who gave them their friendship 
and confidence — men who lived in the world of Lassigny, 
yes, and of Francis Parry, and Dick, and most of those 
among whom she had made her friends? She felt 
shaken by this glimpse she had had into what lay be- 
neath all the commerce of life as she had known it, 
the life of pleasure, innocent enough to her and such 
as her, but lived on a crust of artificiality through 
which one’s foot might slip at any time. Beneath it 
there were untold depths of mire in which one might 
even be engulfed, as Beatrix had nearly been engulfed. 
Her pleasure in those days in Paris was spoiled. She 
longed for the sure ground of her quiet country life, 
in which one lived from day to day occupying and 


PARIS 


187 


interesting one’s self in one’s duties and quiet pleasures, 
with the beauties and changes of nature to freshen 
the spirit, and all around the lives of others with 
which one could mingle, and trust them not to contain 
shameful secrets. 

So she thought of it, not yet taught by age and 
experience that evil is everywhere where men and 
women are congregated together, and may rear its 
head in a country village as well as in a foreign city. 

As she and Barbara were alone together that night, 
Barbara said seriously : “ I can’t think how B can 
ever have liked Lassigny. I never did. Although I 
didn’t know anything in those days, I felt it about 
him all the same.” 

Caroline suddenly saw Barbara with new eyes. She 
and Bunting had always been called fi the children,’ 
and treated as such; and up till the time Barbara had 
left home, only three months before, she had been 
a tomboy, sexless almost, certainly with no appeal 
that would bring out the deeper feminine confidences. 
But she had always had a shrewd eye for character, 
and Caroline remembered that she had avoided Las- 
signy’s society when he had stayed at the Abbey with 
a large party of guests, saying that there were other 
men she liked better. 

But now she was a woman, with a woman’s sensibili- 
ties, though her childish freedom of speech and some 
of her childish ways still clung to her. The very al- 
teration in her appearance, slight as it had seemed at 
first, marked a stage in her growth. She stood by the 


188 


THE GRAFTONS 


window, fingering a chain she had taken off. In her 
pretty evening frock, nearly as long as Caroline’# 
own, she seemed already to be ‘ grown up. ? Caroline 
saw her as a companion to her such as Beatrix had 
been, one whom she could treat as an equal in under- 
standing, if not in experience, and not as a much 
younger sister from whom many things must be kept. 

“ Of course I know what sort of woman that was 
he was with,” Barbara went on. “ You don’t live in 
Paris even as I have to, without knowing the differ- 
ence. I hate it all; and I hate him. Why couldn’t 
B see?” 

" I don’t know,” said Caroline slowly. “ But I didn’t 
see either.” 

Barbara looked up quickly, and a soft look came into 
her face. “ You’re so sweet and good, darling,” she 
said. “ You know, I believe that I see more in some 
ways than you and B — I don’t mean horrid things like 
that; but all sorts of things — about people, I mean.” 

“ I think you have more brains than either I or B,” 
said Caroline, with a smile. 

“ I don’t think it’s brains so much. I don’t know 
what it is, quite. I know I’m not so nice as you, or B 
either.” 

They had begun to undress, helping one another. 
Caroline kissed her. “ You’re every bit as nice, dar- 
ling, and much cleverer.” 

“ I’m sharp, and amusing,” she said. “ Perhaps 
I’m rather too sharp. I shouldn’t like people to be 
afraid of me because of my tongue. I’d much rather 


PARIS 


189 


be like you, and have everybody love me. Cara, when 
B gets married, you and I will be a lot to each other, 
won’t we? I shall be quite grown up by the time I 
come home for good; I’m nearly grown up now. I 
suppose I shall always be much the same with Bunt- 
ing, but I want to be something different with you.” 

“ Darling, it’s just what I’ve been thinking about. 
I shall miss B awfully, when she goes ; but I shall 
have you, to make up. And I thihk it’s quite true that 
you can see more into things than I can — some things. 
Dad told me once I hadn’t got a masculine brain.” 

“ No, you’re all feeling. But it’s right feeling. I 
don’t believe you would ever have fallen in love with 
Lassigny, though you didn’t dislike him as I did. I’m 
never quite so sure about B. Of course I love her 
awfully, and she’s very sweet, and good, too. But I 
think she wants somebody to look after her. Do you 
think Dick is the right man for her?” 

“Why, don’t you? It’s you who can judge.” 

“ Well, then, I do, on the whole. I think he’ll want 
to be master, absolutely. He has that sort of strength. 
He wouldn’t do for me, even if I loved him, and all 
that. I should want somebody I could be more equal 
with. But I think it will suit B — to adapt herself to 
what he wants. The only thing I’m not quite sure 
about is whether he’ll give her exactly the sort of life 
she wants. He has his job and he is keen on it; and 
of course she won’t take an enormous interest in that, 
though she’ll like to see him go up in it. Then he likes 
country life, and she doesn’t particularly. She likes 


190 


THE GRAFTONS 


going about much more than you do. I don’t quite 
see B settling down and living at Wilborough most of 
her life.” 

Caroline was rather struck by this view. 44 You’ve 
thought it out,” she said. 

44 Yes, I like, thinking things out. Of course I may 
be all wrong because I don’t take all this love business 
enough into account. That may alter everything.” 

Caroline laughed outright. 44 You think it’s all 
tommy-rot, don’t you? ” she asked. 

44 Well, I know it can’t be, really, because it seems 
to take the most sensible people. I suppose most of 
them get married because of it, at least in England. 
But I should third * — I don’t know — that the happiest 
husbands and wives are those that like the same sort 
of thing, not those that are most in love with each other 
to begin with.” 

44 1 used to think that,” said Caroline. 44 I’m not 
sure that I do now. I have never loved anybody — in 
the way that B has, I mean — so perhaps I don’t know 
more than you do about it. But I do think it ought 
to begin with that. I suppose marriage isn’t just hav- 
ing a companion you like. If it were I shouldn’t want 
to marry at all, because I have just the companionship 
I want at home.” 

44 Francis Parry wanted to marry you, didn’t he?’* 

44 You’re very sharp, darling,” said Caroline with 
a smile. 44 1 didn’t know you’d noticed anything.” 

44 You and B have always treated, me rather too 
much like a baby. I haven’t minded much, or perhaps 


PARIS 


191 


you wouldn’t have, for I should have talked to you 
about things more. But it’s going to be different now. 
There are lots of things I shall want to talk to you 
about. I like Francis ; but I’m rather glad you 
didn’t marry him, all the same. I think he’d have 
made exactly the right husband for B, though.” 

Caroline laughed. “ That’s a new idea,” she said. 
44 Do you think Dick would have made exactly the 
right husband for me? ” 

44 Well, yes, I do,” was Barbara’s rather surprising 
answer. 44 You’ll be happier settled down, when you 
do marry.” 

44 You don’t settle down much as a sailor’s wife.” 

44 No, but he’ll live at Wilborough by and bye, or 
his wife will. That would suit you. It would be like 
going on living at Abington. But Francis would live 
sometimes in London and sometimes in the country, 
and he and his wife would go about a lot. That’s 
just what would suit B.” 

44 Well, it just shows that love has most to do with 
it, after all,” said Caroline. “ I like Dick, too, but I 
should never want to marry him. If I had to marry 
either of them, I’d much rather marry Francis. And 
I believe that if anything were to happen to stop B 
marrying Dick, she’d feel it more than she did be- 
fore.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A WEDDING 

Beatrix was married early in September, on a day 
of golden sunshine, which bathed the house, the church, 
the garden, and the park, in a glow of calm, soft 
beauty. It was the prettiest country wedding that 
could be imagined, and one of the gayest. The house, 
of course, was full from attic to cellar. Beatrix’s 
relations on both sides converged from all quarters of 
the United Kingdom, and even from Continental holi- 
day resorts, and there was room for a few intimate 
friends of the family as well. When every corner of 
the house had been allocated, and still more people 
whose claims could not be ignored had to be got in 
somehow, three or four empty bedrooms at the Vicar- 
age were commandeered, and furnished ad hoc. This 
not providing enough beds, rooms were taken at the 
inn. More remaining to be arranged for almost at 
the last minute, Stone Cottage, which had remained 
empty since Mrs. Walter had left it, was furnished as 
a dormitory for sundry bachelors. On the night be- 
fore the wedding between thirty and forty guests, who 
were staying in the house or its various dependencies, 
dined there, besides another score or so from Wil- 
borough, and other houses round. The old vaulted 
refectory of the Abbey, which had remained empty and 
ld2 


A WEDDING 


193 


unused for generations, was the scene of this lively 
banquet. It was to be used as a ball-room the next 
night. “We shall want cheering up when you leave 
us, darling,” her father had said to Beatrix. “ Your 
old Daddy will be the gayest of the gay, but his mer- 
riment will be hollow and his laugh a mockery.” 

Only Caroline knew how much of truth there was 
in this light statement. He had behaved beautifully 
throughout the somewhat feverish preparations that 
had had to be made for a marriage at such short no- 
tice. Beatrix had rushed to and from London in a 
state of happy excitement. When she had been at 
home she had devoted herself entirely to Dick when 
he had been there, and when he had not been there she 
had either talked about him or gone away to brood over 
him. For when once the barriers had been broken down 
she had succumbed completely. Caroline smiled to 
herself sometimes as she thought of the doubts she 
had felt as to Beatrix marrying without love, or 
with not enough love. She was made to give herself 
entirely when she did love, and she now loved Dick 
with an intensity and completeness that raised him 
to the seventh heaven of bliss, but seemed to leave little 
room for any other sort of love. Caroline smiled also, 
but rather ruefully, when she remembered her father’s 
satisfaction over the place that would be left for him 
in this new adjustment of his beloved child’s affections. 
She invited confidences from him on the subject, but 
he gave her none. The complaints and resentments he 
had expressed over the affair with Lassigny had given 


194 


THE GRAFTONS 


place to a determination to keep all that he must 
have been feeling about this new affair to himself; 
except the incidental satisfaction to be gained from it. 
He was genial and companionable to Dick, and had 
his reward there in the liking, which was growing 
into affection, that the younger man had towards him. 
He was humourous and chaffing with Beatrix, and 
made no appeals to her for the solace she now almost 
entirely withheld from him. Perhaps he had his re- 
ward there, too, for she must have enjoyed the con- 
viction that she was greatly pleasing him, although 
she failed to signify the same in the usual manner. 
The only comment he permitted himself to make to 
Caroline about the change of wind was when he said 
that he should hate losing B, but rather looked forward 
to settling down again after her departure. But he 
immediately added that it was a great thing to see 
the dear child so happy, and with so good a chance 
before her of happiness for the rest of her life. So 
even Caroline, his confidant, was not to know the 
sadness with which he was wrestling on his own ac- 
count, and the new adjustments he was being forced 
to make, when he had thought that further need for 
adjustment was to have been spared him. 

Caroline, indeed, was having to make a few adjust- 
ments on her own account. The distressed and un- 
certain Beatrix who had come sobbing to her on the 
night after her engagement, and had come closer to 
her sister’s heart than ever before, was distressed 
and uncertain no longer? and had no need of her now? 


A WEDDING 


195 


except as a recipient for love’s raptures. It was 
‘ Dick, Dick, Dick,’ all the time. It spoke well 
for Dick’s quality that Beatrix’s family liked him as 
well at the end of his few weeks’ engagement as they 
had at the beginning. It was he who kept up for them 
the sense of somebody added to it instead of somebody 
being taken away. fi Head over ears ’ as he was, and 
showed himself to be, he still showed them, whenever 
Beatrix allowed him the opportunity, that his recep- 
tion among them added and would further add to the 
satisfactions of his life. It was not only to be just 
him and Beatrix, though the bliss to be gained from 
just him and Beatrix was at present almost beyond 
his power to grasp. It seemed also to be beyond Bea- 
trix’s power to grasp for the time being. She had 
removed herself from them in spirit, already, and had 
told Caroline that what she should really like, for 
the first few years of her marriage, would be for Dick 
to be ordered to the Pacific, and fqr herself to inhabit 
an island to which he could pay occasional visits, leav- 
ing her to think about him all alone in the intervals. 

Grafton had a moment with her alone just before 
the ceremony. All the guests were in the church, from 
which the drone of the organ came across to them, 
standing in the hall until the clock should strike the 
hour. The house was empty and strangely quiet. 
They would have to walk across the few carpeted 
yards that lay between it and the church between 
packed masses of neighbourly and intensely sympa- 
thetic spectators; but they were waiting just inside 


196 THE GRAFTONS 

the doorway where they could neither see nor be 
seen. 

“ Well, I’m going to give you up, my darling,” he 
said. “ I shan’t have you alone again before I go. 
Give me one more kiss all to myself.” 

She lifted her veil carefully, and held up her sweet, 
happy face for his kiss. “ Mind my hair, Dad,” she 
said. 

The church clock struck. “ Now we’ll go over,” he 
said. “You’re not nervous, are you?” 

She laughed. “ Not a bit,” she said. But her 
hand on his arm trembled a little as they got into the 
crowded church, and walked up the aisle with all the 
faces turned or half-turned towards them. That was 
all the emotion she showed, or had shown. It was 
all pure untroubled happiness with her. 

The reception was held in the drawing-room and 
morning-room, which opened into one another, and 
both of them into the formal garden. The broad path 
which ran along this side of the house had been paved 
with stone some months before, and the whole space 
available, indoors and outdoors, permitted of free 
circulation among the guests. 

Lady Mansergh, resplendent in mauve silk, with an 
enormous picture hat surmounting her red-gold hair, 
came waddling up to Grafton, her fat good-natured 
face wreathed in smiles. “ Well, it’s all over now,” 
she said, “ and if you’re half as pleased as I am, Mr. 
Grafton, you’re very pleased indeed. What a sweet 
bride! I’ve never seen one more lovely. If I’d done 


A WEDDING 197 

what I wanted to I should have broken down and cried. 
I’m not Dick’s mother, but I felt like it. Oh, it’s a 
perfect marriage and I wanted it from the very be- 
ginning.” 

“ And yet a year ago, you were telling me that I 
was spoiling the child’s life for her because I wouldn’t 
let her marry somebody else,” he said with a smile. 

“ Ah, you knew better than me, after all,” she said, 
tapping him confidentially on the arm. “ But you are 
pleased this time, aren’t you? Dick says if he hadn’t 
been as much in love with the sweet child as he is, 
he’d have liked to marry her all the same, because of 
her family. Now that’s what I call a real compliment. 
You are a nice family, you know, and I’m sure I 
don’t know how we did without you all here so long. 
You are pleased, aren’t you, Mr; Grafton?” 

“ My dear lady, I’m absolutely delighted,” he said. 
“ It’s just the sort of marriage I should like for all 
my girls ; and Dick is one of the best fellows that ever 
stepped.” 

Old Sir Alexander also had a word of satisfaction 
to express. “ Always wanted a daughter,” he said, 
“ but never expected to get such a pretty one. Lucky 
fellow, Dick! Arranged for another wedding present 
for them this morning, Grafton. Given Dick Manor 
Farm. Want ’em to make their home there, and have 
the girl near us w T hen she can’t be with Dick. Won’t 
have to wait long, I dare say, before they come in for 
the lot; but it’ll be a few years yet if this infernal 
lumbago doesn’t take me.” 


198 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Manor Farm ! That’s the old house right the 
other end of your property, isn’t it?” 

<fi Yes, it’s a pity it isn’t this end. Then we could 
have had her between us. Still, it’s one of the prettiest 
houses I’ve got, and I’m going to put it back to what 
it was before it was turned into a farmhouse, and 
make it all nice for ’em. I’ve told the child, and she’s 
delighted. She knows how to play the daughter, 
Grafton. She’ll make a lot of difference to me in my 
old age, bless her ! ” 

Grafton had already been bombarded with congratu- 
lations from his own and his wife’s relations, but they 
were not over yet, nor would be until the guests had all 
departed. Lady Grafton, who had remonstrated with 
him about his refusal to accept Lassigny as the desired 
husband for Beatrix, had admitted handsomely that 
this was a far more satisfactory marriage for her, 
but was never tired of hearing him say so. She came 
up to him with a glass of champagne in one hand and 
a piece of wedding cake in the other. 

“ Well, my dear George,” she said. “ Here’s the 
first of them gone. I hope you’re as pleased about it 
as you ought to be. You won’t like losing the child, 
but you couldn’t expect to keep her with you always, 
and she’s married just the right sort of man.” 

“ Wonderful powers of observation you have, Mary,” 
he said. 66 1 shouldn’t like to disappoint you in any 
way, and I’m glad you’re pleased with me.” 

“ Ah now you’re being sarcastic, but I’m sure I 
don’t know what for. I’ll behave handsomely to you. 


A WEDDING 


199 


and admit that you turned out to be right a year ago, 
and all the rest of us turned out to be wrong, includ- 
ing B herself, apparently. I’ve never seen a girl more 
devoted to the man she’s going to marry. Perfectly 
beautiful, I call it. She hasn’t got a thought for any- 
body else. She’ll make him a splendid wife, and I 
must say you deserve a great deal of credit for the 
way in which you’ve brought up all your girls. They 
have learnt to be everything to you, and I expect 
you’ve wanted a good deal of humouring, as all men 
do, though it doesn’t show on the surface. If they 
have been able to manage you so well, they’ll know 
how to manage their husbands, which most of us have 
to learn after we’re married to them. I’m sure the 
trouble I had first of all with my dear old James, be- 
fore I got into his ways — ” 

“ Or he got into yours,” suggested Grafton. 

She allowed herself to be diverted. “ Now, George,” 
she said, “ that’s a thoroughly man’s speech. Is James 
happy or is he not P ” 

“ The Bank Rate is very satisfactory at present,” 
said Grafton. “ I think both James and I are as 
happy as we can expect to be.” 

Lady Handsworth also admitted handsomely that 
his opposition to Lassigny had borne good fruit. 
“ This is a more satisfactory marriage than that 
would have been, even if M. de Lassigny had been every- 
thing you could have wished him to be,” she said. “ I 
am glad it has come about so quickly, and so natu- 
rally, George. I did say to you, I remember, that her 


200 


THE GRAFTONS 


first love meant so much to a girl that if she were 
disappointed in it no other love could be quite the 
same to her. But you seem to have judged more rightly 
than I even over that, which is more of a woman’s 
question than a man’s. I suppose it is because you 
have always had such sympathy with your girls. I 
confess that I should never have expected to come to 
Beatrix’s wedding within a few months and find her so 
entirely cured of that other affair. She was very 
deeply in love, I know, and in the nicest sweetest sort 
of way; but she seems still more deeply in love now.” 

“ Well, you see she’s found the right fellow,” said 
Grafton. “ He’s worth what she gives him. The other 
fellow wasn’t; but I don’t think she’d really given him 
everything; she only thought she had.” 

u You’re a wise man, George. Women have much 
more to give to those they love than they have any 
idea of themselves at first. But men don’t usually 
know that. And only the best sort of men bring it out. 
B is a darling, but it would make a great deal of dif- 
ference whom she married. I do think now that with 
Lassigny she would just have developed as a charming 
delightful woman, but rather of the butterfly order — 
even if everything had gone right with their married 
life. But I think Dick will make her. She will show 
very fine qualities by and bye. He will bring them 
out.” 

“ I hope he will,” said Grafton. 

The Bishop, who had performed the ceremony, was 
standing in a little group with his wife and Prescott 


A WEDDING 


201 


and Viola. “ Well, my dear friend,” he said, “ you’ve 
provided one of the happiest weddings I’ve ever taken 
part in, and I think I may say one of the very sweetest 
and prettiest of brides.” 

“ What I like about all your girls, Mr. Grafton,” 
said the Bishop’s wife, “ is that there’s not an ounce 
of nonsense in them anywhere. They show all their 
feelings, and they fortunately never have any feelings 
that they would want to hide.” 

“ That’s a very handsome tribute,” said Grafton. 
“ But I think it’s deserved.” 

“ I’ve never seen anybody look happier than the 
little bride,” she went on. “ If all the marriages you 
have solemnised, my dear, bid fair to turn out so 
satisfactorily as this one — !” 

<e Yes,” said the Bishop. “ Marriage is a blessed 
state where there’s complete love and trust. I think 
one could say that neither of these two would be com- 
plete without it.” 

“ Or without one another,” said Viola. “ Gerry, 
dear, I thought we were the most satisfactory couple 
you could find anywhere, but Dick and B have advan- 
tages over us. He is not so harum-scarum as you are, 
and she is much prettier and nicer than I am.” 

“ Gentle fisher-maiden,” sang Prescott. “ But she’s 
a sweet thing, and deserves all the happiness she can 
get. I think she’s found the right man to give it her 
too. His Lordship and I did a very good thing when 
we spliced them up. I’m all for making everybody 
happy,” 


202 


THE GRAFTONS 


Jimmy Beckley had a word or two of wisdom to im- 
part on the subject of the marriage. He would have 
liked to impart them to Beatrix herself, but found it 
impossible, as he had rather feared, to get her apart ; 
so he asked Barbara to come for a stroll with him, 
and she consented, having a fair idea of what the in- 
vitation portended, and expecting to draw amusement 
from it. 

“ You know,” said Jimmy, when they were out of 
earshot of the crowd, “ a wedding of this sort is a jolly 
moving thing. I wouldn’t say that to everybody, be- 
cause the general idea is to keep grinning all the time, 
and advise the young couple to keep clear of squalls. 
But I believe you can see further into things than 
most people, Barbara, though I shouldn’t have said 
it of you a year ago.” 

“ I’m glad you’ve noticed the change in me,” said 
Barbara, with suspicious humilit}'. “ Of course I was 
a child a year ago ; now I’m a woman, and better com- 
pany for people of intelligence.” 

“ That’s quite true,” said Jimmy. “ I can talk to 
you now about things I should never have thought of 
mentioning to you last year. I can tell you, Barbara, 
that this marriage of B’s has made me see a good 
many things in a different light. When you see a girl 
like that — bright and taking and pretty — pledging 
herself to a man for life — and doing it before an old 
Bishop of course makes it all the more jolly — it makes 
you think that a lot of the business that’s talked about 
love — well, the Johnnies who talk about it don’t know 


A WEDDING 


203 


as much as they think. That’s how it struck me in 
the church just now, ’specially when the old bird 
spouted that bit about for richer and poorer, and in 
sickness and in health and all that. I don’t know 
whether you felt something of the same. I expect you 
did. You’ve got a heart; I know that, though every- 
body might not twig it.” 

“ Thank you, Jimmy,” said Barbara. 44 Yes, I felt 
much the same as you say you did. It made me think 
that there was no sense in wasting yourself over a lot 
of idle fancies. Much better wait till exactly the right 
man comes along, and give him everything.” 

44 H’m ! Well ! ” said Jimmy, evidently somewhat 
at a loss. 44 But you haven’t had much time for idle 
fancies.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Barbara. 44 1 wouldn’t tell 
it to everybody, but I know it’s safe with you. You 
understand these things. I — No, I can’t after all. 
Please forget what I said, Jimmy. There is nobody; 
nobody at all ; and if there were, you’re the last person 
I should confess it to.” 

44 My dear child,” said Jimmy, 44 you’ve said what 
you have said, and I’m very glad you’ve said it to me. 
There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I suppose what 
you mean is that you’ve taken a fancy to some fellow 
and don’t like to acknowledge it because you think it 
mayn’t be returned.” 

44 Oh, I know it isn’t,” said Barbara. 

44 Well, I shouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you,” 
said Jimmy. 44 You’re young, and you don’t know 


204 


THE GRAFTONS 


men. You see them taking fancies to people, but per- 
haps after all there isn’t much in it. This fellow may 
be thinking a great deal about you all the time; per- 
haps not liking to show it himself because you haven’t 
given him any encouragement.” 

“ Oh, no. I know he can’t possibly care for me at 
all. Besides, it’s all over now. I was rather weak, but 
I’m not any more.” 

“ If this chap let you see that he was thinking about 
you, and was very glad to know that you were thinking 
about him in that way, I suppose it wouldn’t be over, 
would it? ” 

“ I think so, but I couldn’t be certain till I got back.” 

“Got back! What do you mean? Got back 
where? ” 

“ Why, to Paris. You see, I’ve had six weeks to 
get over it.” 

Jimmy stopped and looked at her sternly. “ Do 
you mean to say, Barbara, that you’ve fallen in love 
with some ass of a fellow in Paris ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, he wasn’t an ass, Jimmy. He was a splendid- 
looking man. He was one of the Gardes Municipales 
who was on duty at the Opera. I saw him three times. 
Before that it was one of the clergy at the English 
Church. Now I’ve begun I may as well tell you every- 
thing. Before that there was a driver of a fiacre 
who used to stand in the Place Saint Sulpice, but he 
was much too old — about sixty-five, I should think, and 
that didn’t last long. Before that — oh, but I can’t tell 
you any more. I’m glad I’ve made a clean breast of 


A WEDDING 205 

it, though. You understand it all, I know, and can 
make allowances.” 

“ I can’t make allowances for that sort of rotten 
business,” said Jimmy stiffly. “ You’re the last girl I 
should have thought would have mucked about like 
that. If that’s the way you behave yourself in Paris, 
I don’t think you ought to be allowed to go back 
there.” 

“ I don’t suppose I should be allowed, if Dad knew. 
Of course, as I told you, it’s all over now; but I don’t 
know what will happen when I get back to Paris. I 
may see somebody else, and not be able to help myself. 
There’s rather a handsome violin teacher who comes 
to teach one of the girls — but I mustn’t give away 
other people’s secrets, and she has left now. I shall 
be the only one to learn the violin next term.” 

“ You don’t play the violin.” 

“ I asked Dad if I might, and he said I could.” 

“ Barbara ! ” Jimmy stopped in the path again, 
with the evident intention of expressing himself with 
weight and fervour. But he had only got out the 
sentence. “ You will not learn the violin next term,” 
when Young George arrived on the scene. 

“What’s up?” he asked. “You look as if you 
were having a row.” 

“ Jimmy objects to my learning the violin,” said 
Barbara. “ I’m sure I don’t know why.” 

“ You know very well why,” said Jimmy. “ Do 
you wish me to tell George the reason why I object? ” 

“ Yes, if you’ve got one.” 


206 


THE GRAFTONS 


44 She has taken a fancy to the violin teacher,” said 
Jimmy. 44 She actually acknowledges it, and says — ” 

44 Why shouldn’t I acknowledge it?” interrupted 
Barbara. 44 She’s a very clever teacher, and took the 
First Prize at the Conservatoire.” 

44 You can’t get out of it like that,” said Jimmy 
hotly. 44 If there’s a woman there’s a man too. You 
said so. And what about the cab-driver, and the 
bobby, and the curate? It’s a good deal too serious for 
me to keep it to myself, and I shall tell George every- 
thing you told me.” 

44 Yes, you tell him all about it, dear,” said Bar- 
bara. 44 1 can’t stay any longer. I must go to B. 
Good-bye, little man.” 

The time came for Beatrix to go off. A great crowd 
had collected in the hall, through which she made her 
way laughing, and round the carriage that was to 
take her to the station. Before her husband handed 
her into it she threw her arm round her father’s neck. 
44 Good-bye, my precious old Daddy,” she said. 44 I’ll 
write to you the very first thing.” 


CHAPTER XV 


AN ACCIDENT 

It was a wild wet day in late October. A terrific gale 
had swept over the country the night before, and strewn 
the coasts of England with wreckage. It had done 
great damage at Abington, and when Caroline looked 
out of her bedroom window in the morning she saw 
evidence of it in great trees lying prone here and there 
in the park, and the drift of leaves and branches scat- 
tered everywhere. The wind was still raging, though 
it had abated some of its fury, and even as she looked 
she saw a high elm that had towered above the beeches 
with which the slopes of the park were mostly planted 
come crashing to the earth. 

After breakfast she went out to see what damage 
had been done. The wind was blowing over the house 
to the front, and when she got out of its shelter she 
was seized as if in the grip of something tangible, and 
held for a moment struggling. She laughed and went 
on, enjoying it, but had to hold on to her hat to pre- 
vent its being wrenched off her head; and her thick 
tweed skirt was blown all about her. In her young 
strength and resiliency she seemed as much at home 
in this wild weather as in days of blue sky and soft 
airs. She was no fair-weather girl, and the rain which 
drove against her fretted her as little as the wind. 

207 


208 


THE GRAFTONS 


As she made her way across the park she saw the 
figure of a man making his way towards the spot where 
the most havoc had been done, and recognised it for 
that of Maurice Bradby. He saw her and came to- 
wards her. When they met they laughed at one an- 
other. “Isn’t it glorious?” she said. “I thought 
you’d be out to enjoy it.” 

Her face was wet with the rain. Her hair, where 
it showed under her close-fitting felt hat, was pearled 
with it. She had never looked more lovely, to him, 
than then as she smiled up to him. His rugged, rather 
unkempt strength also showed to advantage in this 
battle of the elements. He had gained the country 
look, which is not affected by chances of weather, but 
shows a spirit attuneable to expressions of all nature’s 
moods. 

“ I’ve come out to see what damage has been done,” 
he said; and they went on together. 

In the shelter of the trees progression was easier, but 
the gale still roared and shrieked above them, and 
twigs and small branches were being torn off and fall- 
ing all about. Once a branch of considerable size 
cracked and fell within a few yards of them, and 
Bradby looked anxiously at her, and suggested that 
it would be safer in the open. But he was keen on 
the work he had come out for, and she was interested 
in it too. So they went on. 

He was noting the trees that had fallen and meas- 
uring them with his eye for their timber. He seemed 
to her to be doing it with a wonderful sureness and 


AN ACCIDENT 


209 


competence, as he did everything in connection with 
his work, and she tested herself as to her own under- 
standing of the matter in hand, and received congratu- 
lations from him on her eye for timber. This pleased 
her. It was more interesting, doing things, than just 
walking and talking, and to do them with him was 
to do them with some one who could teach her a lot of 
what she liked knowing about. And she liked helping 
him, too. He had a master mind in all that had to do 
with the commodities of nature ; she had long since come 
to recognise that. In all outward aspects her inferior, 
here he was on a plane which put her at his feet, and 
he exercised his knowledge with a quiet assurance that 
made his mastery evident. It was worth while to work 
with him; and to gain his commendation brought a 
thrill. 

They went to where the great elm had fallen. It was 
the tallest of a group of three standing among the 
beeches on the highest point to be seen from the Abbey. 
It had been a magnificent tree, but had passed its age 
of healthy growth, and the amount of sound timber to 
be reckoned with was difficult to gauge. They inter- 
ested themselves deeply in it, while the gale, which 
seemed to have increased in violence again, raged all 
about them. 

They were standing by the uprooted bole, wonder- 
ing at the exposed roots, which seemed to have so little 
to anchor such a giant to the earth, when suddenly 
Bradby seized Caroline and threw her violently into 
the hollow from which the tree had been uprooted. 


210 


THE GRAFTONS 


She fell and lay in a puddle of water, and was in- 
stantly overwhelmed by the branches and twigs of a 
great bough, some of which whipped her in the face, 
drawing blood, and one more solid hit her heavily 
on the arm and drove it into her side. 

When she had recovered a little from the fright 
and shock she wriggled herself free from it. If it had 
been set ever so little more at an angle it must have 
crushed her body, for the bough that had been torn 
from one of the elms still standing was of great size 
and weight, and this was one of its biggest branches. 

She raised herself with difficulty through the mass 
that was hemming her in, and called to Bradby. But 
there was no answer; only the wind and the driving 
rain. 

With her heart in her mouth she clambered out of 
the hollow and then saw him lying half in and half 
out of it, with his face white and dead, and his body 
underneath the heavy branch that had struck her 
down. 

She found herself struggling with all her might to 
lift the weight from him, and then came suddenly to 
herself and ran as fast as she could down the hill to 
get help. Her face was bruised and bleeding, and her 
arm hung by her side useless, though she knew that 
it was not broken. She was hurt, too, where it had 
been pressed into her body, and every breath she drew 
was a sharp twinge. But she ran the whole way to 
the house, and managed to give clear and quick instruc- 
tions to the men she found in the stables. She would 


AN ACCIDENT 


211 


have gone up with them, but Miss Waterhouse, who 
had seen her running across the park, came out and 
insisted upon her coming in. When she got indoors 
she collapsed, for she was rather badly hurt. 

Bradby was hurt very seriously. He had seen the 
bough crack and begin to fall, directly towards where 
they were standing. Caroline was standing with her 
back towards it. He might have got out of the way 
himself, but there would have been no time to warn her, 
or even drag her out of danger. To throw her into 
the hollow was the only chance, and the bough caught 
him before he could jump in after her. The fallen 
trunk fortunately took the weight of the great bough, 
which if it had fallen to the ground must have killed 
them both. But the branch, an elbow of which had 
crushed Caroline, had struck Bradby down. It had 
broken both his thighs, and he had ribs broken besides, 
and internal injury which made his life hang in the 
balance for as long as Caroline took to recover from 
her lesser hurt. 

He was said to be just out of danger when she was 
well enough to leave her room, and in two days, when 
she had practically recovered and could go out again, 
he was said to be going to get quite well, though he 
would have to lie up for many weeks yet. 

He had been moved down to the Abbey, and was 
installed there with a couple of nurses, one of whom 
was able to leave him in a week. When Caroline first 
saw him he had altered so as to give her a shock of 
dismay. He was thin and gaunt and pale, but his 


212 


THE GRAFTONS 


great dark eyes stood out of his face in such a way 
as to bring out its essential refinement. The imma- 
turity of his features seemed to have been wiped out ; 
he was almost handsome, with his shock of dark hair 
spread over his pillow, and his long, pale, thin face 
with the fine eyes. 

„ His mother was with him — a gentle sweet-faced 
woman, with the same beautiful eyes, but no other re- 
semblance to this ugly duckling of a son. He must 
have inherited his strength and ruggedness from his 
father, of whom a photograph stood on his mantel- 
piece. There were photographs of his brothers and 
sisters too — good-looking men and girls, more like 
their mother than he was. His father had come when 
he was at his worst, but had gone back to his parish, 
and Caroline had not seen him. 

Caroline knew he had saved her life, but found herself 
unable to say so, or to thank him. And she knew that 
he didn’t want her to. They said very little at her 
first visit, but it was plain what healing it brought him. 

She told Mrs. Bradby what he had done. “ It was 
his quickness that saved me,” she said, “ and not 
thinking about himself. Very few people would have 
been able to think of what to do, and do it, in that 
fraction of time. The instinct must have been to get 
out of the way.” 

His mother must have known his secret. An instinct 
stronger than that of self-preservation had been at 
work, and Caroline owed her life to it, and he his in- 
juries. 


AN ACCIDENT 


213 


She looked rather sadly at the beautiful girl sitting 
with her. They were in the Long Gallery, in which all 
the circumstances of this kindly hospitable family were 
expressed. She had been taken in just as if she be- 
longed to all the wealth and ease, and the wide rela- 
tionships, herself, and her son was being treated 
as if he were of it too. But his lot, and hers, were 
cast in very different places from that of the people 
who inhabited rooms of this sort, and had the rela- 
tionships indicated by the photographs that were set 
about. They were of two different worlds — the world 
of work and the world of wealth, which never entirely 
coalesce, though contact is formed here and there be- 
tween them. 

She looked at Caroline and saw her more in the light 
of the state of life to which she belonged than in that 
of her essential character. It was the first time that 
they had met, and though she was strongly attracted 
to her she had not yet gauged her fine true spirit. It 
was natural that she should be affected by her outward 
appearance, which betokened her birth and her station, 
and seemed to put her altogether out of reach of a 
young man who had enjoyed none of the advantages 
of wealth, and had none of the elasticity which enables 
some to climb up from rungs of the social ladder a 
good deal lower than that from which he had started. 

But before she left Abington, which she did two 
days after she first saw Caroline, she came to look at 
her son with new eyes, and it was Caroline who opened 
them for her. 


214 


THE GRAFTONS 


It is not every mother who loves her ugly duckling 
better than the handsome ones. Mrs. Bradby took 
more pride in her other sons than in Maurice, who, 
until he had made his new start at Abington, had been 
looked on in his home as something of a failure. Even 
now, though his new start had seemed to promise suc- 
cess, neither his father nor mother had taken it as 
anything more than a fortunate finding of the right 
path for him. There was indeed no more to be seen 
in it than that. Land Agency is hardly a career in 
itself. At the best he would live the life that suited him, 
and gain in time a situation which would enable him 
to marry. He could never expect more than a modest 
income and a modest home. He would bring satisfac- 
tion to his parents if he worked up to that, but 
not pride, as their other sons were in the way of do- 
ing. 

But this beautiful, sweet, clever girl saw a great 
deal beneath the not very attractive exterior. He 
might do nothing in the world that would be counted 
as success. He was hardly in the way of doing any- 
thing, and yet she spoke of what he was doing as if 
it went much deeper than the work in which he was 
spending his days, and by which he was about to earn 
his living. He was in his right place in the world, 
and in tune with big things. This was more than 
to make the sort of success that his brothers might 
make in their several careers. If his mother did not 
think it was more, she at least saw that Maurice was 
not to be judged by the standards applied to them, 


AN ACCIDENT 215 

and her heart went out to the girl who had found 
more in him than she had. 

It may be supposed that she was on the alert for 
any sign that Caroline was attracted towards her son 
in the way that she had divined he was towards her. 
She was not sure, at the end of her visit that she 
wasn’t ; but she was sure that if she was she didn’t 
know it yet, or she would not have spoken of him with 
that unfettered admiration for his fine qualities. It 
was natural that she should show warmth of feeling 
towards him, when he was lying battered and broken 
by having saved her from the same or from worse 
injury; but that warmth also was expressed frankly 
and without reserve. His mother thought, rather 
sadly, that if Caroline had thought of him as of a 
young man with whom it was possible to fall in love, 
she wouldn’t have praised him so freely. She was 
what her surroundings had made her; he was some- 
thing quite different. She would accept the difference 
as putting a barrier between them, and from behind 
that barrier she could give him her liking and admira- 
tion and understanding. 

So it seemed to Mrs. Bradby, as she drove away 
from the Abbey, with gratitude for all that she had 
received there warm in her heart. She had come to 
see in Caroline, as Caroline saw in Maurice, some- 
thing deeper than what was shown on the surface, 
something deeper even than the kindness and goodness 
that was there for all to see. If Maurice had been 
older, more sure of himself, it seemed to her in her 


216 


THE GRAFTONS 


new view of him that he might have aspired to this 
girl, in spite of the differences between them. She 
would not think that they would matter ; she was too 
fine to base herself upon the accidents of her up- 
bringing. She would take a man for what he was, 
not for his outward seeming. But Maurice was still 
immature ; he would not himself think that he had 
enough to offer a girl such as Caroline, nor be able 
to impress her to step out of the conventions that 
hemmed her round. 

It was just as well. Nothing but trouble, it seemed 
to her, could come from a love declared and returned. 
Maurice had done so well that he was to be paid as 
Sub-Agent to the Abington property from the be- 
ginning of the year. Mr. Grafton, she knew, had 
arranged that, who*was always so kind. But his kind- 
ness could hardly be expected to stand the test of giv- 
ing his daughter to a young man who would be making 
barely enough money to keep himself, and was quite 
outside the circle in which marriages were formed 
for her and her like. It was, perhaps, something of a 
comfort to be convinced that Maurice, whatever he 
might feel towards Caroline, would be too diffident 
to bring on that complication, and that she would not 
lend herself to it. 

But she had reckoned without the impulsions of 
youth, of dependence upon one side and of gratitude 
and pity on the other. 

Maurice had been moved on to a sofa by the open 
window, and Caroline was sitting by his side talking 


AN ACCIDENT 


217 


to him, as she had sat and talked for days past. By 
and bye — she never afterwards remembered quite how 
— her hand was lying in his, and they were looking 
into one another’s eyes, with a meaning infinitely 
tender and trustful. There was nobody in the world 
but their two selves, and they both knew it, without 
any necessity for words. Caroline’s time had come. 
She had not known it until that moment, but she knew 
it now without the shadow of a doubt, and accepted it 
with complete surrender. 


CHAPTER XVI 


MAURICE 

Grafton had gone up to London on Monday morning, 
and would not be back until Friday evening. Caro- 
line wrote to him on Tuesday morning. Maurice also 
wrote to him. There was no reply to either of the 
letters. Caroline had told him that she should tell no 
one else until she heard from him, or saw him. 

She motored to the station to meet him. Her heart 
was heavy, but beneath her dread of what was coming 
was a deep calm and assurance. There were to have 
been guests at the Abbey over the week-end, but a 
telegram had been received to say that they had been 
put off. That was all that she had heard from her 
father, though when he had been away for the whole 
working week he had always written to her at least once. 

He gave her his usual greeting when he got out 
of the train — “Well, my darling!” and kissed her. 
The kiss was, if anything, warmer than usual, and 
she felt an immense lift of love and gratitude towards 
him. If he had brought himself to accept it! She 
had hardly dared to hope for that. 

He had brought some cases down, and she stood 
with her arm in his while he gave instructions about 
them. Then they got into the car and drove off. 

“ I didn’t write, darling,” he said immediately, “ be- 


MAURICE 


219 


cause it wanted a lot of thinking about, and some 
getting used to. It was quite a surprise to me. You 
say it was to you, too. Are you quite sure about 
it?” 

“ Yes, Dad, quite sure,” she said softly, her arm still 
in his. 

“ Well, I knew you must be. I came to see that. 
Whatever I thought about it myself, it was for you 
to decide, and you weren’t likely to have made a mis- 
take, or to have gone into it lightly. I trust you 
absolutely, darling. I trust you in some things more 
than I do myself. If it’s what you want, you must 
be right to want it. You’ll have no trouble with me.” 

She broke down and cried on his shoulder. The 
strain on her had been greater than she had known, 
and its entire removal unbalanced her for the moment. 
Her tears did not last long. “ You’ve made me so 
happy,” she said. “ I don’t know why I’m crying. 
I ought to be laughing.” 

“ Dearest child ! ” he said tenderly. “ You’ve been 
fearing that I should make a fuss, eh? Well, there’s 
going to be a bit of a fuss, you know, Aunt Katharine 
and Aunt Mary, and all the rest of them. They won’t 
understand it all.” 

“ Do you understand it all, Dad? ” she asked. “ Is 
that why you’re so sweet about it?” 

“ Perhaps I don’t understand it all,” he said, 
“ though I’ve taken a lot of trouble about it. You 
won’t expect me to shirk the difficulties. You’ll have 
to answer up, won’t you? They won’t like it, and 


220 


THE GRAFTONS 


they’ll say so. It will be for your sake they’ll make 
objections, and think they are right in doing it. You'll 
have to remember that. But they’re not — either of 
them — what you might call worldly, at heart. If 
you’re right you’ll be able to make them see it.” 

44 I shan’t mind anything if you’re on my side, dar- 
ling Dad. I hoped you would be when I had seen you, 
but I didn’t think you’d bring me such comfort as 
you have, just at first. It makes me love you more 
than ever, because you understand the best things in 
me.” 

There was a pause before he said : 44 Tell me about 
it, darling. We needn’t talk about what the world 
will see, and criticise. You must have faced that. 
And—” 

46 Perhaps it would be better,” she said, 44 if I tell 
you how I have faced it, so as to get it out of the way, 
between you and me, Dad. We have talked about mar- 
riage together, and I know what your views are. Mine 
were much the same, before I knew I loved Maurice. 
I suppose that was why I didn’t know that I did love 
him. Until it came to me, I shouldn’t have thought 
of marrying anybody that Aunt Katharine and Aunt 
Mary wouldn’t think it suitable that I should marry — - 
somebody with an established position, who had lfted 
in the world that they belong to. I think even if I 
had found myself to have fallen in love — ” 

She hesitated. 44 Ah, that’s the important thing,” 
he said, and she knew that he understood her, and went 
on, with a pressure on the arm she was holding. 44 Yes, 


MAURICE 


221 


even if I had fallen in love — unless there was something 
deeper — I shouldn’t have thought it right, and should 
have tried to get over it.” 

He kissed her, and laughed. “ I think I’m rather a 
clever fellow,” he said. “ I’ve had to work it out all 
by myself, and I’ve worked it out right. You see, I 
know you, my Cara. I don’t know him yet, though. 
So it wasn’t easy.” 

She pressed closer to him. “ It’s lovely to feel one 
is so much trusted,” she said. “ But you were right 
to trust me, darling. No, I know it couldn’t have been 
easy. I’ve had to do some thinking myself, so as to 
see how you’d take it. I knew you’d be dear and kind, 
but I couldn’t expect you to see Maurice as I see him, 
now that I love him. He thinks, you know, that I’m 
much above him. I’m not, in anything that matters. 
But in all the things that the world looks at — . That’s 
what we’re up against, isn’t it, Dad? ” 

“ We’ll be up against it together, darling, and if 
I’m with you the others won’t matter much. But it’s 
true, you know, that I don’t see him as you do, yet. 
You’ve got to help me.” 

“ I know. Well, darling, you’ve seen I have changed 
since we came to live here. When we had that ride, 
to breakfast with Mollie, we talked about it. You 
thought I was cutting myself off from something that 
was worth having. I wasn’t quite sure that I wasn’t, 
and I enquired into myself afterwards.” 

“What did you discover? It’s very important. 
You will cut yourself off.” 


222 


THE GRAFTONS 


66 1 discovered that I really didn’t want any of it $ 
not to make it matter. My happiness is in the quietest 
things I do, not in the other things. Even our big 
beautiful house, and the garden, and the way we live 
— that counted for a lot when we first came to live in 
the country. But it’s not what counts most now. It’s 
the country itself — nature, I suppose. I’m at home 
with it. There’s something in me that responds. Well, 
Maurice is like that too; even more than I am, be- 
cause his life has been simpler than mine. He is 
really big, Dad; big and simple and direct. There’s 
been nothing to complicate his purpose. I’ve felt it 
about him all along. Now I love him, I know what it 
is that has brought me to him. I can look up to him f 
and I do.” 

They went up together to Maurice’s room. He was 
on the sofa, propped up now against cushions, and soon 
to be ready to be wheeled about. 

“ Well, my boy ! ” said Grafton, as he shook hands 
with him. 

“ Dad is on our side, Maurice,” said Caroline. 

A look of intense happiness came into his face, 
and tears sprang to his eyes; for he was still weak, 
and the relief brought to him was overpowering. 

Grafton sat down by the sofa. “ She has told me 
all about it,” he said. “ If it’s what she wants, it’s 
what I want for her.” 

As he spoke he searched the young man’s face, to 
see, if he could, what there was in him that he hadn’t 
seen already, but she had seen to such surprising 


MAURICE 


223 


effect. He caught a glimpse of it. It was a strong 
face. The diffidence that had been perhaps the chief 
note of this young man’s behaviour towards them all 
had been based upon his youth and inexperience. They 
had represented to him a side of life in which he had 
not been, and probably never would be, at home. But 
it was the conventional side of life. In the big, basic 
things he would not show diffidence. And he would 
grow into his man’s good strength. 

He had grown already. He looked the older man 
straight in the face as he said : “ I’ve done nothing 
to deserve her yet. But if you’ll give her to me I 
will.” 

Worthing came to dine that evening. Grafton was 
to tell him about it when they were alone together 
after dinner. Miss Waterhouse, only, had been told 
so far. She had shown no surprise, but had said very 
little. Grafton was not sure whether she approved 
or not, but knew that she would express herself to him 
by and bye, in her quiet way that was full of wisdom. 

Worthing had been up to see Maurice before dinner. 
He was rather quieter than usual until he and his host 
were left alone together. When Caroline and Miss 
Waterhouse had gone out of the room, he said at once : 
“ Grafton, I’ve got to get something off my chest, and 
I may as well do it at once. I think the sooner young 
Bradby is moved out of here the better.” 

Grafton laughed, rather ruefully. “ You should 
have said that a fortnight ago,” he said. “ It’s too 
late now, James.” 


22 4 


THE GRAFTONS 


Worthing stared at him open-mouthed. “ You don’t 
mean to say — ! ” 

“ They’ve fallen in love with one another. She’s as 
deep in it as he is.” 

Worthing struggled with his consternation. “ But 
— but — but — ” was all he could say, and each 
‘ but ’ marked a question to which he wanted an an- 
swer. 

“ What do you see in the boy, James? ” asked Graf- 
ton. “ He’s been living with you for over a year now. 
You must know him as well as anybody.” 

Worthing found his voice. “ What do I see in him? ” 
he said. “ I don’t see a husband for Caroline in him. 
I call it an infernal piece of impudence. Surely you’re 
not going to allow it! Why, he’s hardly begun his 
work yet. He couldn’t expect to marry anybody, for 
years to come. And a girl like Caroline ! Good Lord ! 
What’s the world coming to ? ” 

He seemed greatly disturbed. “ I feel as if I was to 
blame, in bringing him here,” he said. “ But I never 
thought — ” 

“ Well, it’s natural that you should take that view, 
at first. I took it myself when I first had their letters. 
It was about the biggest startler I’ve ever had. But 
you know Caroline, James. She loves him. If you can 
find the answer to the riddle why she loves him, for 
yourself — ! ” 

“ That’s not very difficult. He saved her life, and 
nearly lost his own in doing it. She’s been looking 
after him. Women are like that, and young girls 


MAURICE 225 

especially. You don’t have to know much about them 
to see that ; there are thousands of instances.” 

“ That’s what it will look like to everybody, I know. 
But it wouldn’t be enough for Caroline.” 

“ Caroline’s one of the best girls that ever stepped. 
All your girls are; they’re quite out of the common. 
But human nature works in them just the same as in 
anybody else. Why, you’ve seen it yourself, in Beatrix. 
She fell in love with a wrong ’un. You stopped that; 
and now she’s got the right man. Supposing she'd 
married the first fellow she fell in love with ! ” 

“ You say I stopped it. I’ve asked myself how 
much I had to do with stopping it. I got it put off. 
If he hadn’t — ” 

“ Well, then, you ought to get this put off — at least. 
Bradby is a good enough fellow in his own class, but 
his class isn’t Caroline’s. That’s plain enough! I 
can’t understand your thinking about it all. There 
isn’t a soul in the world who wouldn’t think you were 
justified in stopping it — taking her away, or some- 
thing; or telling me to clear him out. I’d do it like a 
shot.” 

“ It wouldn’t make any difference. I’ve come to see 
that. I love my little B, but she isn’t Caroline. She 
might have fallen in love — she actually did — with a 
man who wasn’t fit for her to marry. Caroline never 
would.” 

“Beatrix would never have fallen in love with 
Bradby.” 

“ I know she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t have seen be- 


226 


THE GRAFTONS 


low the surface. Caroline does, and she finds some- 
thing there that I confess I haven’t been able to see 
hitherto. That’s why I asked you at the beginning 
what you saw in him. Get rid of all the side issues. 
He’s young ; he isn’t in a position to marry ; he doesn’t 
belong to our sort of people. What is he beneath 
all that? Or, if you like, what is he going to grow 
into ? ” 

“ He’s A1 at his work. I’ve never denied that. He’ll 
get a good job by and bye, and be worth it ; but not for 
a good many years yet.” 

“ That is one of the side issues. Caroline wouldn’t 
love him because he was likely to get a good job. What 
is he in himself? Come now, James, you’re a man of 
some perception, and he has lived with you for over 
a year.” 

“ What is he in himself? ” Worthing frowned, with 
the effort to direct his thoughts into the channels re- 
quired of them. “ You want me to give you excuses for 
accepting him,” he said. 

“ Not excuses ; reasons. I’ll tell you how Caroline 
sees him. Her words struck me. She said he was big 
and simple and direct.” 

This was rather beyond Worthing. “ He’s a good 
fellow,” he said. “ He’s not always thinking about 
himself; a nice fellow to live with. Whatever he does 
he does as well as he can do it. Is that what she means 
by being direct? He’s simple enough, if that’s a good 
quality. I’m not sure that it is. Fellows of our age 
can say we’ve hit upon the right sort of life and don’t 


MAURICE 


227 


want anything beyond it, but I think a young fellow 
ought to have some ambition. I’ve never seen any in 
him. I doubt if he’d ever move to get himself on ; he’d 
just do his work wherever he was. I don’t know what 
she means by his being big. He’s in his right place 
on the land.” 

“ That’s what she does mean, I think. He’s so much 
in his right place, where most people aren’t quite. 
And the land is big. He’s in tune with it. I think 
that’s how she expressed it. It’s a bit beyond anything 
I could have got hold of myself, but it isn’t beyond me 
to take in her view, believing in her as I do. She’s 
big herself, you know, James. And she’s simple and 
direct too. She has found herself, living here in the 
country. Eighteen months ago she wouldn’t have fallen 
in love with Bradby, any more than B would. She’s 
been getting away from the sort of life she was brought 
up to all the time. I’ve known that.” 

“ But do you want that ? It means she’s getting 
away from you. I should have thought that was the 
last thing you’d have wanted.” 

“Damn it, man! Can’t you see into things a bit? 
How much do you think I should be likely to want a 
marriage of this sort for a daughter of mine, if it were 
left to me? I was absolutely bowled over by it. I’ll 
say that, just once to you, and get it out of the way. 
I’ll say it to nobody else, and I won’t let Caroline know 
it if I can possibly help it. Supposing I stood out! 
What should I stand out on? On everything that she 
sees as plainly as I do, but rejects for herself. And 


228 


THE GRAFTONS 


what she sees and accepts as all important for her, and 
for the best part of her, she’d find me incapable of 
accepting. What could part us more than that? She’s 
made up her mind, and she’s sure she’s right. She 
won’t change ; it would be a come down for her to take 
the view of it all that strikes you and me. I’m what 
I am, and what my life has made me. I can’t help this 
being a grievous disappointment to me. I want all 
sorts of things for her that I’ve a right to want for 
my daughter. But if she doesn’t want them — if she 
doesn’t think they’re the best things — ! ” 

“ She’s bound to miss all she’s been brought up to.” 

“ If I thought she would I might stick out, for her 
sake. It wouldn’t bring me much consolation to stick 
out. I should only be dividing myself from her, as I 
did for a time from B. I don’t want that again. I’ve 
learnt something. I stuck out against that fellow 
because I felt right through me that he wasn’t right 
in himself, for B. If I stood out against Bradby, it 
would be because he wasn’t a match for Caroline in 
money and position and all that sort of thing. I’m not 
going to base myself on all that, and show myself 
incapable of sharing her bigger ideals. And what 
would be the good? It would hurt her damnably to 
know that I couldn’t stand beside her on that plane; 
but she’d never come down to mine.” 

Worthing showed himself impressed. “ If you think 
of her like that ! ” he said. 

“ Well, isn’t it the right way to think about her? 
There are some people in the world whom you can^ 


MAURICE 


229 


trust never to go wrong. She’s one of them. Her 
mother was another. If her mother had been alive, 
she’d have backed her up. I’ve tried my best to stand 
for what she would have done towards our children, but 
a man can only make a clumsy job of that at his best. 
Still, where I see it, I’m going to take her line rather 
than my own. I’d have trusted her ; and I trust Caro- 
line.” 

Worthing was silent for a time. Then he said: 
“ Well, I hope you’re right about it. I can’t say it 
looks anything but odd to me. I don’t think you can 
care about it much yourself, either. You must have 
had a difficult time bringing yourself to your present 
way of thinking. I can see that. It does you a lot 
of credit.” 

Grafton sat silent too, looking down. Presently he 
said, as if summing it all up : “I trust Caroline. If I 
don’t see it as she does, it’s because my ideas ^aren’t 
likely to be as right as hers. But for my own sake, 
and hers too, I shall try to see it as she does. And I 
shall stand between her and her relations. I shan’t 
say as much to any of them as I have to you. We’d 
better go up to them, I think. Don’t let him see 
what you think about it, more than you can help. 
Make the best of him.” 

Grafton had a talk with Maurice alone the next 
morning. He had never found it easy to talk to him, 
except where it was a question of the things he knew 
about. He had as little of the art of general conversa- 
tion as a young man of his age very well could have, 


230 THE GRAFTONS 

and his diffidence had made him even rather tiresome 
as a companion. 

But there was none in the way he spoke now. He had 
gained Caroline’s love, which made him feel himself 
a king among men, though in desert still far beneath 
her. He was full of gratitude for the gift of her love, 
and he was grateful too to her father for his accept- 
ance of him as her lover. 

“ I know what a lot there is against me,” he said 
quietly, “ that you are bound to take into account. 
But although she’s so much above me in every way, 
we love the same things, and I can give her something 
that another man might not. I’ve found out that I 
can make her happy. That’s the most wonderful dis- 
covery I’ve ever made. I hope you’ll trust me to do 
it.” 

“ My dear boy,” Grafton said, “ I’ve got to trust 
you. She does. It’s all I want of you, that you should 
make her happy, all her life. I’ve made her happy up 
till now. But a father can’t complete his daughter’s 
life, however much he loves her. Only a husband can 
do that. She believes you’re the one man in the w^orld 
who can give her all she wants, and because she believes 
it, I’m bound to believe it too. Tell me the course of 
life you have in your mind for yourselves. I know 
you’ve talked it over together, but I told her I’d rather 
have it from you. I want to get into complete sym- 
pathy with you as well as with her.” 

“ I know it must be difficult for you, Mr. Grafton,” 
the boy said. “We are both very grateful to you for 


MAURICE 


231 


the way you have treated me. I didn’t expect you’d 
be so kind about it. She said you would be, but I 
think I can see more clearly than she does what a 
difference there is between us. In the way you’d look 
at it, I think I see it just as clearly as you do.” 

“ Well, I’m glad you’ve said that, Maurice. I sup- 
pose a father is apt to think about the material side 
of marriage for his daughters more than the other. I 
think he’s right to do it, because with the experience 
he has reached he knows well enough that the ma- 
terial side of a marriage is a lot more important than 
two young people who have fallen in love with one 
another are likely to see for themselves. It mustn’t 
be left out of account with you two. That’s why I 
want to know what your ideas are — as to the way 
you’ve planned it out for yourselves.” 

“We look at it like this,” he answered at once. “ A 
very simple life, in the country, will give both of us 
what we most want. It’s easy enough for me, because 
it’s more than I’ve ever had. Even the way I live with 
Mr. Worthing, and coming here, and going to other 
houses like this, is more than I’ve had. I should 
expect to be able to get to that by what I can earn, 
by and bye, but of course it’s much less than Caroline 
has been used to. I’ve thought about it a great deal, 
and tried to take into account everything that she 
would be losing by marrying me — to see whether she 
ought not to lose any of it.” 

" “ Well, what do you think she will be losing? ” 

“ The biggest thing, which would trouble me greatly 


232 


THE GRAFTONS 


if I thought she would lose it because of me, would be 
the way you and her own family would look upon her. 
If it wouldn’t make any difference — ” 

“ Well, it won’t make any difference to me. I’ve 
assured you of that already.” 

“ I’m rather afraid of how Beatrix will take it.” 

“ Beatrix won’t like it, Maurice. We’d better look 
it all in the face. I don’t know how her life will turn 
out, but it will never be so free of the world as Caro- 
line’s will. She isn’t built on the same lines, and they 
won’t come together on the deepest things in Caroline’s 
life. She won’t understand them. But they love one an- 
other, and they’ll go on loving one another.” 

“ Yes, I think so. It was you I thought most about. 
Then her other relations, and all the people she has 
lived among, and I haven’t. She will be cut off from 
them. Not entirely, where they are real friends; but 
she will no longer be living their life, and I’m not fitted 
to live it. She won’t be able to see so much even of 
those who would want her, and she would like to see. 
She won’t be able to pay many visits, or go much to 
London. She will miss all the clever interesting people 
she has constantly met, and being in the world, and 
part of it, as she has been.” 

Grafton laughed. “ She’ll have told you that she 
has already reconciled herself to not living much in 
the world,” he said. 

“ Yes, she has. But I had to ask myself for her 
whether she wouldn’t miss it more than she thinks. 
She has a great deal of it still — here. She wouldn’t 


MAURICE 


233 \ 


have nearly so much. And of course all that it means 
living in a house like this she would lose, — what she 
has grown used to, and doesn’t think about, because 
she has always had it. I can see how different her 
life would be.” 

“ I think you’ve faced it all pretty straight, Maurice, 
except that she’ll lose consideration in the world. How 
does that strike you ? ” 

He hesitated a moment. “ 1 don’t think it matters,” 
he said. 

“ Perhaps it doesn’t. But why don’t you think it 
matters ? ” 

“ Because nothing that she will be if she marries 
me will be less than what she has been. Everybody 
whose opinion she would value would know that.” 

“ Well, I think you’ve got that right too. And as 
for all the rest — there’s a certain way of living that 
one wouldn’t like to see one’s daughter fall below; but 
it doesn’t depend upon big houses, or a lot of money. 
There’s no reason why she shouldn’t have it. I do 
think myself, that with a girl like Caroline, so suited 
to take her place in the best sort of society that the 
world has to offer, it’s a pity she shouldn’t have it. 
But we’ve had that out together and she says she doesn’t 
want it. She wants something else, which she thinks is 
better. I wish she could have had both ; but if not, she’s 
made her choice, with her eyes open, and I’m not going 
to say that I think she’s wrong. She won’t be losing 
everything that she has been brought up to either. 
What are your ideas about getting married?” 


234 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ We haven’t talked about it much yet. It’s for the 
future, when we can see ourselves settled somewhere.” 

Grafton sat thinking for some time. Then he got 
up from his chair. “ Well, I expect you’ll want to see 
Caroline now,” he said. “ I must go down and write 
some letters.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 

When Grafton left Maurice’s room he went to the 
Long Gallery, where Caroline was sitting with Miss 
Waterhouse. When Caroline went away he stayed 
there. Miss Waterhouse had not yet expressed herself 
to him. 

“Well, Dragon, what do you think of it all?” he 
asked her. 

“ I think you have been very wise, and very kind,” 
she said. 

“ It had to be — eh? ” 

“ Yes, I think it had to be, under the circumstances.” 

“ What do you mean by the circumstances? ” 

“ When two young people are brought together in 
the way they have been, I think love is likely to come 
of it.” 

Her answer made him vaguely uneasy. “ That’s 
what the world will say,” he said. “ If it were only 
that, it wouldn’t be very satisfactory, would it? Don’t 
you see a deeper suitability in it than there is on the 
surface? It’s what I have to look for, to make it 
bearable.” 

“ I think there is what you call a deepef suitability. 
I think Caroline will be happy in her marriage, when 
the time comes for it.” 


235 


236 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ You’re not very enthusiastic, Dragon. Is she satis- 
fied with your view of it? ” 

“ I was the only person who knew anything until you 
came home. I sympathised with her. I saw how deep 
her love was. But I couldn’t be enthusiastic until I 
knew how you would take it. I couldn’t have said 
that you would have been wrong in asking at least 
for a term of probation, as you did in Beatrix’s 
case.” 

“ But I didn’t ask for it — because I trusted Caro- 
line to have faced all the objections she would know I 
should feel, and just exactly not to have allowed her- 
self to fall in love owing to what you call the circum- 
stances. She would know what she wanted, I said to 
myself. And she wouldn’t change, whatever I did or 
said. It wouldn’t have come to an end of itself, as 
Beatrix’s affair did. I hope you’re not going to say 
that my reasoning was wrong. It hasn’t been very easy 
to sink all my own ideas — of fitness — of what one would 
expect in marriage for a girl like Caroline.” 

“ I think you’ve been entirely right ; more right than 
if you’d stood out, or even questioned it. It would have 
made no difference, and you’d have had to give way 
in the end. Nothing you could have done or said 
would have so added to dear Caroline’s happiness as 
what you have said and done. She was dreading 
more than anything a separation in spirit from you. I 
know that, though she said little about it. Now that 
fear is removed she is blissfully happy. Nothing that 
anybody else says will matter to her at all.” 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 237 

“ And yet you don’t seem to think I reached ray 
conclusions in the right way.” 

“ What I think is that she couldn’t have reasoned 
it out in the way you thought she had. A woman 
doesn’t reason like that — or at least she doesn’t. 
It was just her heart that guided her.” 

“ But she did reason. She told me that if he hadn’t 
been what she has found out for herself that he is, and 
she’d been inclined to fall in love with him — just in 
the way you say she has, with gratitude, and pity, 
working in her — I suppose that’s what you mean — 
she’d have resisted it.” 

“ I think she couldn’t have fallen in love with him, 
unless he’d shown himself to her as he has. There 
wouldn’t be anything, for her , to fall in love with. It 
was her heart prompted her all the time. But of course 
she has tried hard to see it all in the light that you 
have taught her to follow. She would want to satisfy 
you that she hadn’t given her love lightly. She 
wouldn’t have wanted to satisfy herself. She would 
have known that she was right.” 

“Do you think she’s right, Dragon?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ And you’re not disappointed that this has come 
about ? ” 

“ Not for her sake. I am for yours. You would 
have expected her to shine in the world you belong 
to, and that she has belonged to. You must suffer 
somewhat in your just pride in her. But it’s a far 


238 


THE GRAETONS 


bigger thing to be able to sink that, and to want only 
her happiness, and to trust her to know where it lies. 
You’ll certainly have your reward, though it may 
take some time to get over the disappointment. She’ll 
love and trust you, as she couldn’t have done if you 
had stood out ever so little.” 

“ Well, you’re very coisforting, Dragon. Stimulat- 
ing too. I told Worthing something of what I’d gone 
through about it, last night, and said that I shouldn’t 
say as much to anybody else. But you’re different. I 
shall have to stick up to Katharine Handsworth and 
Mary Grafton, and all the rest of them, when my own 
feeling will be much the same as theirs. I want some- 
thing to support me.” 

“ Yes. But I think it will all die down sooner than 
you think. All women are at heart sympathetic with 
a love match, you know. And they love Caroline. 
They won’t want to make her feel that she is lowering 
herself.” 

“ What about B?” 

“ Caroline has written to her, and to Barbara and 
Bunting. Whatever B has to say will be said to you, 
not to Caroline.” 

“ B has been more critical of Maurice than anybody, 
you know.” 

“ She will want that forgotten.” 

He was silent for a time, and then asked : “ What are 
Caroline’s ideas about getting married? She hasn’t 
said anything to me about that yet.” 

“ She has said very little to me. Having her en- 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 239 

gagement just on the right footing has been enough 
for her.” 

“ Has she said anything at all? ” 

“ She would expect to wait, I think, until he got 
some sort of place; then she would not mind in how 
small a way they began.” 

“ Well, there’s no reason why they should begin in 
such a very small way. If I accept Maurice as the 
right husband for her, I should naturally do for her 
what I did for B.” 

He had settled ten thousand pounds on Beatrix. 
Miss Waterhouse knew this. So did Caroline. 

“ They could marry at any time on that,” she said. 
“ And he will be earning something in a few months. 
Do you want them to marry soon?” 

“ Well now, I’ll make a clean breast of it to you, 
my dear Dragon. As long as they are not married, I 
shan’t be able to prevent myself having a sort of hope 
that they won’t be, after all.” 

She smiled. “ You will have more pleasure of her 
now,” she said, “ when she is settled in her new life.” 

“ That’s what I’ve told myself. She will be very 
careful, I know, to let it make as little difference be- 
tween her and me as possible. But it can’t be quite 
the same as it has been. She has given her love to 
him, and I must be second where I’ve been first. But 
when she’s once married he’ll have his place and I shall 
have mine. We shan’t clash in any way. I’m happier 
about B now than I was for the month or two before 
she was married.” 


240 THE GRAFTONS 

It was the first time he had alluded to Beatrix’s at- 
titude towards him at that time. 

“ I think B was selfish,” she said at once. “ Caroline 
won’t be like that. Her love is as deep as B’s — deeper, 
for she has a deeper nature — but it will not carry her 
away in the same way. She will never hurt others who 
love her.” 

“ I should like lo see her happily married, you know. 
She’ll be more than she’s ever been. It will complete 
her. She’s one of the right people, Dragon. The 
deeper you go down, the more you find.” 

“ Yes, she’s like that, the dear child. And she has 
gained greatly in character since we came to live here.” 

“You’ve seen that, have you?” 

“ Oh, yes. It’s the good simplicity in her.” 

“ That’s what she says she sees in him ; it’s where 
they come together. Well, he’ll have his regular job 
here, next year. It won’t be much, but with what I 
shall give her they could begin. They could have 
Stone Cottage. Do you think Caroline has thought of 
that at all ? ” 

“ She hasn’t said anything about it. But it would 
be just the right beginning for them; and it would 
be delightful for us to have her so near.” 

“We should have to think of it as having them 
so near, shouldn’t we? It would mean a lot to me, and 
to you too, and the children, to have her here ; but — . 
Well, I've said nothing about it to her or to him yet. 
They may have some idea that they ought to wait till 
he can do it all, or most of it, for her. I don’t want to 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 241 

claim more than is my right in her, Dragon. I’ve had 
a bit of a lesson about that with B, you know.” 

“ I think he would have no right to object to her 
doing more to support their home than he can at first. 
It is just where the difference, that you can’t get over, 
comes in. Caroline ought not to be kept waiting 
because he is not the sort of young man she would 
have been expected to marry. What you would give 
her would help in any case, as it helps with Beatrix. 
It is only that in this case it would help much more. 
It would be just one of the many things she would 
bring him that he is very fortunate to get with her. 
It would be a test of the large simplicity she sees in 
him if he took it gratefully, and without question.” 

He laughed at her. “ Why, Dragon,” he said. “ I 
believe, after all, you take Worthing’s view of it — 
that it’s infernal impudence of him to expect to get 
Caroline at all.” 

She smiled in return. “ I have every hope that he 
will prove worthy of her,” was all the answer she 
made to this charge. 

Grafton made his offer to Caroline, and gained all 
he could have wanted in return from her glowing grate- 
ful expression of happiness. “ Darling old Daddy, 
you are good to us,” she said. “ I do want to begin 
soon, but I didn’t know whether it would be possible. 
Stone Cottage will be just perfect for us; we shall be 
near you, which will be lovely. I must go and tell 
Maurice at once.” 

Maurice thanked Grafton for this extra gift in a 


242 


THE GRAFTONS 


way that pleased him. You’ve given me Caroline,” he 
said, “ and now you’ve given us both this. I have 
more to thank you for, Mr. Grafton, than I can ever 
say.” 

His gratitude showed itself continually in his atti- 
tude towards the older man. Grafton knew that affec- 
tion and admiration were working in his mind towards 
him, and he had only to stretch out his hand and take 
it, if he wanted it. The workings of his own mind 
were cpntradictory. Outwardly, and with strong 
restraint over himself, he had done the utmost that 
could have been expected of him. He had sunk all his 
grudges, and hidden all his disappointment. But he 
knew that still more had to be done if he were to gain 
the contentment in Caroline’s marriage that for her 
sake he was simulating. It could only be done by 
receiving Maurice as a son, and if he could not do 
that for Maurice’s own sake as well as for Caroline’s, 
she would find it out sooner or later, and her happiness 
would be dimmed. And her love for himself would have 
received a hurt. 

He set himself to talk to Maurice, to find out what 
was in him, to make contact. He found all the boy’s 
simple philosophy of life good and straight and true, 
and under the impulse of his great happiness and 
gratitude he found expression for it. His whole being 
was set towards Caroline. His ambitions were all 
towards fitting himself to be her worthy companion in 
life, and to bringing her the fruit of his gifts. These 
could never be to any considerable extent those to be 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 


243 


exchanged for money, and his thoughts did not run 
on the lines of a successful career. He would be worth 
a good position in the limited field to which he would 
devote his energies, and he took it for granted that it 
would come to him by and bye. For himself he looked 
upon it only as giving him further scope for the work 
for which he was fitting himself. There was never any 
hint of increased opportunities for his own pleasure 
in the future. He would have the full fruition of his 
own desires from the first, and he would owe it to Caro- 
line and in a secondary degree to Grafton. It was 
she whom he would work and live for. There was a 
more single-minded devotion in his attitude towards 
her than in Dick’s towards Beatrix. All Dick’s life 
and work would be sweetened by Beatrix’s love, but 
they would be pursued, as the life and work of most 
men are pursued, for their own ends. Caroline would 
be the end and aim of Maurice’s whole existence. 

Grafton was soothed in his spirit by this whole- 
hearted homage paid to his girl. She was worth every 
bit of it, but a lover does not always honour his mis- 
tress for what she is ; it is often enough for him if she 
is what he wants her to be. Grafton would have been 
up in arms at once if Maurice had shown himself merely 
overjoyed at winning Caroline, and holding himself as 
if he had only gained his deserts. He was not pre- 
pared to look upon her as fulfilling her destiny in deco- 
rating and solacing Maurice’s unimportant life, how- 
ever she might think of herself and her duties towards 
him. But if Maurice looked upon himself as owing 


244 


THE GRAFTONS 


her lifelong devotion and service, his relationship to- 
wards her brought no sense of assumption to her father. 
It was the right relationship in his view, and he could 
rest himself upon it, as the conviction strengthened 
itself that it was based upon something stable and sure 
in Maurice’s character. 

Taking pains to find qualities in him that he had 
not troubled to look for before, he was inclined to won- 
der that he had thought him dull and uninteresting in 
conversation. When he had something real to talk 
about he could talk as well as another, if he were en- 
couraged to do so. The difference that had always 
hampered him with Grafton, as a much older man, most 
of whose experiences and interests were beyond his 
reach, was being solved by the affection that was reach- 
ing out for expression. The most learned of men find 
pleasure in the conversation of those who are not 
learned, if it is natural, and especially if there is af- 
fection to influence it. And Grafton was not learned; 
his brains were no better than Maurice’s, though ex- 
pression of them came easier to him. 

He knew, by the end of those two days, before he 
went back to his work in London, that he had only to 
open his heart to Maurice, and he would gain from 
him all that a man who loved his daughter could want 
from her husband. He had Dick’s affection and friend- 
ship. Maurice’s was just as well worth having, and 
it would be given him in still greater measure. 

As he travelled up to London he smiled to himself 
as he remembered the way the Prescotts had received 


HOW THEY TOOK IT 


245 


the news. They were the only people, except Miss 
Waterhouse and Worthing, who knew of it yet. 

They had guessed it, Viola had said in triumph. She 
had told Gerry it was bound to happen, and he had 
said he had seen it before she had, upon which had 
followed a fearsome quarrel. The one thing Gerry 
would not stand was anybody being cleverer than him- 
self, and unless she was prepared to acknowledge her- 
self a sort of bat-eyed idiot their married life would 
be wrecked sooner or later. 

Neither of them had seen anything at all unsuitable in 
an engagement between Maurice and Caroline. In 
fact they had seemed to expect Grafton to be at least 
as pleased about it as they were themselves. He had 
not led them to suppose that he was not pleased, but 
had given them opportunities of showing the opinion 
they held about Maurice. 

They had laid stress on his complete unselfishness. 
“ He’ll go out of his way to help anybody,” Prescott 
had said. “ And he does it because it’s his nature to, 
not because he thinks he ought to. He thinks about 
himself less than anybody I’ve ever known. Caroline 
will have a splendid husband.” 

There was the unworldly view. The question of sta- 
tion in life did not interest the Prescotts. Grafton 
knew that it would interest the people he would see in 
London considerably. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


MORE OPINIONS 

The House in Cadogan Place had been given up, and 
Grafton had taken a flat. Beatrix dined with him 
there on Monday. Dick was stationed at Chatham, 
but was unable to get away that evening. 

Beatrix was radiantly happy, and more beautiful 
than ever. She was growing up to herself all round. 
Every time that he saw her, Grafton congratulated 
himself anew upon having saved her from that other 
marriage. Perhaps at first she would have shown her- 
self just as happy in it; but he would always have 
been looking for developments, and changes, none of 
which he would have expected to be for the better. 
Now he knew that all her charm of character could 
find safe play, and add to her own happiness and the 
happiness of those about her, and that its deeper 
qualities would be brought into being too, fostered 
and strengthened. There was a quality of all-round 
fitness in her marriage upon which he, who loved her, 
could rest himself with pleasure. And she was always 
demonstratively affectionate towards him when they 
met, though not quite in the same way as she had been 
before her marriage. All her thoughts were centred 
in Dick, and if he had not been prepared to accept 
Dick as deserving of all that she gave him, he would 
246 


MORE OPINIONS 


247 


have felt the difference. But there was nothing about 
Dick that he did not like and respect. He had taken 
him in, as he had told Caroline he must be able to 
take in his daughters’ husbands, if he were not to feel 
too acutely their loss, and as he was now struggling 
to take Maurice in, for Caroline’s sake, and also for 
his own. 

“ Daddy, darling, how awful this is about Caroline ! ” 
was Beatrix’s first word upon that subject. 

He had not expected quite such a determined ex- 
pression of opinion, and hardly knew what to reply 
for the moment. It gave him a slight sinking of heart, 
he had no time to ask himself why. 

“ You haven’t told her you think it’s awful, have 
you ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, no, of course not. I’ve written her a very nice 
letter. So has Dick. And we’ve both written to Mau- 
rice. It seems funny to have to call him Maurice. If 
she’s got to marry him, Dick says we must treat him 
as if we were pleased about it. And she told us that 
you had been simply adorable about it. So we knew 
that was the line you’d like us to take. But you can’t 
really be pleased, are you, Dad? ” 

“ Why do you think it’s so awful ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, Daddy, darling, look at him ! Look at him be- 
side a man like Dick.” 

This rather annoyed him, but he did not show it. 
“ Oh, well, look at anybody beside Dick ! ” he said, 
pinching her chin. 

Dinner was announced at that moment, and the sub- 


THE GRAF TONS 


nS 

ject was avoided until the servant left them alone to- 
gether. Then Grafton spoke immediately. “ Look 
here, B darling,” he said, “ I hope you won’t go about 
crabbing this marriage of Cara’s. If you do, she’s 
bound to find it out sooner or later, and it will make 
her unhappy. It won’t alter anything. She won’t 
take your view of him, you know, and it can only 
divide her from you. It will make a cleavage in our 
family, and that’s just what I don’t want. You’ll 
each have your own homes, but your old home will be 
a centre for all of you too. This chap will be part of 
the family now, and we’ve got to accept him, for 
Caroline’s sake.” 

She laughed at him. “ This chap ! ” she repeated. 
u You darling transparent old thing! You think it’s 
just as odd as I do — her marrying like that. You 
didn’t talk of Dick as ‘ this chap ! ’ ” 

He was annoyed with himself for the slip. He had 
not meant to excuse or explain himself to Beatrix, but 
now he would have to. “ That’s just what I was warn- 
ing you about,” he said. “ I don’t deny that there are 
certain things one has to get over, and until you do 
get over them you’re likely to let drop something that 
shows you haven’t quite. That’s what you must be 
careful about.” 

“ Well, darling, I’m glad you haven’t been so careful 
as all that, with me. You can quite safely tell me 
everything. It wouldn’t be nice of you to pretend 
before me. I might think it very splendid of you, but 
I shouldn’t love you more for it. I’m quite ready to 


MORE OPINIONS 249 

back you up in keeping what you really think from 
Caroline.” 

He felt the ground slipping from beneath his feet. 
“What does Dick say about it?” he asked. “Can’t 
he see anything in Maurice that all the world can’t 
see? ” 

“ He thinks he is very nice ; but of course he doesn’t 
look upon him as a suitable husband for Caroline. He 
doesn’t think you can either, and he can’t make out why 
you don’t try to stop it. You did with me — before — 
and we’ve never ceased blessing you for it.” 

“ I didn’t try to stop it with you because that fel- 
low — I suppose you’ve no objection to my calling him 
that — ” 

“ You can call him what you like, darling.” 

“ Well, I didn’t object to him because he hadn’t 
got enough money. That’s about what it would come 
to here.” 

“ Oh, no, it isn’t, darling. And you don’t think it is 
either.” 

“ Oh, if you can’t talk about it sensibly, B, we’d 
better chuck it.” He rose from the table. 

She rose too and slipped her arm into his as they 
went into the other room, and laughed at him. “ I 
think it’s awfully sweet of you to want to make the 
best of it,” she said. “ I won’t worry you any more, 
darling, if you’re certain that nothing can stop it.” 

“ Well, you ought to be able to see it as I do. You 
know what Caroline is. She wouldn’t give her love, 
and take it away again when the sort of objections 


250 


THE GRAFTONS 


that you feel towards Maurice are pointed out to her. 
She’s faced all that, and it doesn’t matter to her. She 
sees a lot more in him than you can, ©r than I’ve been 
able to ; though I tell you that there is a lot in him, 
and Fm quite ready to accept him. So you — and Dick 
— ought to make the effort too.” 

They were standing together before the fire, her arm 
still in his. Her face was graver, as she said : “ Caro- 
line is different to me. That’s quite true.” 

“ I haven’t meant anything I’ve said to reflect on 
you.” 

“ I know, darling. But you wouldn’t treat it like 
that if it were me, all the same. Well, of course 
we shall be as nice about it as ever we can, and if he 
does turn into something that makes him more equal 
to Caroline it will be all the easier. It’s quite beyond 
me to think of him as her equal now, Dad, so you 
mustn’t expect me to do it.” 

“ Oh, well, don’t show it ; that’s all I ask,” he said. 

The view taken of the affair by Lady Grafton, 
whom he saw in the course of the week, was that it 
was his own fault for burying Caroline in the country. 
If he hadn’t wanted her there whenever he went down 
to Abington she would have gone about more and met 
the right sort of men. 

“ Oh, my dear Mary ! ” he said. “ She has been 
meeting what you call the right sort of men all her 
life. She doesn’t want the life she’d lead with them. 
And as for saying that I’ve kept her down there, you 
know that’s ridiculous. As a matter of fact it has 


MORE OPINIONS 


251 


rather worried me that she never wanted to go any- 
where else, and I’d told her so.” 

" I suppose she had fallen in love with this youth, 
and didn’t want to go away.” 

“ Now you’re talking more ridiculously than ever. 
I believe she was as much surprised as I was when 
she found out what had happened to her.” 

“ That doesn’t sound very likely, George. You told 
me once that you would know all about it when Caro- 
line’s time came; and I told you, I remember, that you 
wouldn’t know anything about it at all. And that’s 
what has happened.” 

“ I suppose you want to annoy me, Mary. You can 
be the most exasperating of women, and I wonder 
James has put up with you as long as he has.” 

66 James knows when he’s well off. I’ve never given 
him a moment’s uneasiness in all my blameless life. 
Why on earth can’t you get this put off, as you did 
with B? You acted so wisely there; and see what a 
a reward you have had! She has made just the right 
sort of marriage, and is as happy as happy can be. 
It’s delightful to see her.” 

This speech had the effect of restoring his good 
humour. He laughed at her. “ That’s pretty cool, 
after the way you went for me last year, about B,” 
he said. 

“ You’re very difficult to please. I said you had been 
wise, as things have turned out. I didn’t say I thought 
you so wise a year ago. If you knew anything about wo- 
men you’d see how great a concession I’ve made in ac- 


252 


THE GRAFTONS 


knowledging that you were right, and I was wrong. 
Now there’s a marriage in question much more unsatis- 
factory than that would have been you sit by and do 
nothing. You can’t possibly like it, and I know quite 
well why you’re giving in. I don’t think you ought.” 

“ Why do you suppose I am giving in ? ” 

“ Because you’re so weak with your girls that you 
daren’t go against them. You’re afraid they wouldn’t 
be pleased with you.” 

He laughed again. “ Illogical creature ! ” he said. 
“ B wasn’t at all pleased with me, and I stuck out, 
for her sake.” 

“ And made an awful lot of fuss about it too. You’re 
afraid of the same thing happening with Caroline, 
and you daren’t face it. That’s the plain truth behind 
all this talk of her knowing exactly what she wants, 
and your accepting her judgment rather than your 
own. She knows exactly what she wants now because 
she’s in love. A woman can’t judge a man when she’s 
in love with him.” 

“Perhaps not; but she can judge him before, and 
Caroline has known this particular man for over a 
year. So have I, and I say that there’s a lot more in 
him than a person like you can take into account.” 

“ Ah, now you’re being abominably rude, which shows 
that I’ve made an impression on you. No man can 
stand being put in the wrong. If you had half the 
pluck that you think you have you’d risk Caroline 
behaving to you like B did, and save her from making 
a mistake.” 


MORE OPINIONS 253 

44 You see, I don’t think she is making a mistake. 
You don’t know Caroline as well as I do.” 

44 1 know Caroline very well. And I know women in 
general much better than you do.” 

44 0n the outside, perhaps. But you’re rather a shal- 
low character yourself, and one wouldn’t expect you 
to understand everything about a girl like Caroline. 
You’re also the least little bit of a snob. Most people 
are, and it’s nothing particular against you.” 

44 It’s no use trying to make me angry, because you 
won’t succeed. If I can stand being called a snob I 
can stand anything, and it doesn’t make the least im- 
pression on me. Besides, it’s a ridiculous charge in 
this connection.” 

44 You don’t object to young Bradby for anything 
that he is in himself ; you only object because you don’t 
think he’s a good match for Caroline.” 

44 Quite so. But that’s not snobbery ; it’s common 
sense. However, I see you’re determined to have your 
own way, and I shan’t say any more. You have the 
air of being one of the most reasonable men in the 
world, and you’re really one of the most obstinate, 
as well as quite one of the rudest. However, no 
woman who didn’t know you as well as I do would be 
likely to find that out, and in a general way your 
manners are charming. Now you have lost B, and are 
going to sacrifice Caroline, I think you might do what 
I once advised you to, and marry again, yourself. It 
would put an end to all this acute annoyance you show 
so plainly when somebody else comes along to interfere 


254 


THE GRAFTONS 


with the arrangements you have made for a comfort- 
able family life that shall centre round yourself.” 

There was a pause, and then Grafton threw his 
head back and roared with laughter. “ That’s in re- 
turn for the accusation of snobbery, I suppose,” he 
said. 

Lady Grafton laughed too. “ I can be just as rude 
as you can,” she said, “ and I can do it much more 
subtly. I wish you wouldn’t make me laugh, and spoil 
everything. I’m extremely annoyed with you, and 
there are a lot more offensive things I should like to 
say. However, I dare say you’ll give me another 
chance. But seriously, George, this isn’t the sort of 
marriage Caroline ought to make. I’ve seen the young 
man, and I’ve nothing against him in his proper place. 
But he is hopelessly gauche and middle-class. That’s 
bound to tell by and bye. Women are supposed to 
have no real discrimination about men, and there’s 
this much truth in it that they can and do fall in love 
with men who are beneath them, just as men fall in 
love with women who are beneath them. But when 
they’ve been brought up like Caroline they simply can’t 
ally themselves with people not of their own class. 
Before many years are up she’ll be criticising him for 
his deficiencies. If she does marry him of course her 
relations aren’t going to throw her over for it, but 
she’ll drop out completely. Some men can learn, and 
raise themselves from the class they were born in, es- 
pecially if they have clever wives; but I’m sure this 
young man isn’t one of them. He’ll keep her down to 


MORE OPINIONS 


255 


what he is himself, and really, George, it’s a good deal 
below what Caroline is, or what she ought to be given 
over to.” 

44 Well, Mary, you’ve put it sensibly at last. Rut 
you’re wrong in several particulars, all the same. If 
it were as simple and obvious as all that I should agree 
with you; so would Caroline, for that matter, and she 
wouldn’t want to marry him. What you’ve missed 
altogether is that the boy has character. I’ve come 
to see it already, and he’ll grow into something that 
she can be proud of. Another thing you’ve missed is 
that she really doesn’t want to live in the usual round. 
She has kept herself almost entirely out of it for the 
last eighteen months, because she likes her quiet coun- 
try life better. She’ll have that with him, and she’ll 
get more companionship in the sort of things she likes 
doing than with a fellow like Francis Parry, for in- 
stance.” 

“ Ah, poor Francis ! I don’t know what he'll say 
when he hears about it. Fancy preferring young Bradby 
to a man like that ! Well, if Caroline really does, and 
you’re going to back her up in it, she’s not quite what I 
thought she was, and I suppose I’d better let it alone.” 

44 1 really think you had, Mary. If Caroline isn’t 
quite what you thought she was, I assure you she 
hasn’t deteriorated. As far as I’m concerned there’s 
something in all your jibes, but not as much as you 
think there is. I do hate losing my girls. They’ve 
been more to me than most daughters are to their 
fathers, because I’ve only had them. But because I 


256 


THE GRAFTONS 


feel like that, I should be all the more careful not to 
let it affect my actions towards them. My thoughts 
perhaps I can’t help it affecting. And it’s true that I 
shrink from going through with Caroline what I did 
with B. But that wouldn’t deter me from standing out 
if I saw good reason to do so. I don’t ; so I’m not 
going to spoil things by giving in grudgingly.” 

“ You’re even going to hurry on the marriage, I 
hear. And you’re providing them with a house — of 
course at Abington. I don’t object to that though. 
Caroline won’t lose everything that she’s been used 
to having, and if you get rather more of her society 
than you’re entitled to, perhaps you deserve it, as 
you’re acting so nobly.” 

Which left the last word with Lady Grafton. 

Lady Handsworth was not so critical. She said 
that she did not understand it, but she seemed more 
ready than Lady Grafton to agree that any man whom 
Caroline loved must be worth loving. She thought it a 
pity that Grafton should not allow time to work, as 
he might well have done under all the circumstances, 
instead of making it possible for Caroline to marry at 
once without giving her time to think better of it. 
But Lady Handsworth had never seen Maurice, and 
did not regard him, as Lady Grafton did, as below 
the point of gentility with which Caroline ought to ally 
herself. So her objections were not likely to be so 
strong, and Grafton managed to satisfy her that hold- 
ing out would not alter matters, and that an early 
marriage >?puld make for Caroline’s happiness. 


MORE OPINIONS 


257 


Young George had a 6 short leave 9 during this week 
and spent it with his father. He had no objections 
to urge against the marriage. “ I like Maurice, and 
always have,” he said. “ I think he’ll make a jolly 
good husband for Caroline, Dad, if you help ’em along 
a bit. I don’t suppose he’ll ever make much boodle; 
but as long as they have enough to get on with I don’t 
think Caroline will mind that.” 

Grafton was pleased to find his son holding these 
views. There is nobody more critical of outward ap- 
pearance than an Eton boy of Young George’s age, 
and if Maurice had succeeded in impressing himself 
upon him to this extent, it showed that his departure 
from recognised type was no serious hindrance to him. 

“ What does the illustrious Jimmy say about it? ” 
he asked. 

“ Jimmy doesn’t know Maurice as well as I do. He 
can only see that he doesn’t brush his hair well, and 
all that sort of thing. His people are all right, 
aren’t they, Dad?” 

“ Oh, yes. One of his brothers called on me at the 
Bank yesterday. His hair was brushed all right, and 
he would have passed all Jimmy’s tests. I like your 
view much better, Bunting. I. dare say I should have 
taken Jimmy’s when I was your age, but as you grow 
older you learn to judge by other standards. I’m 
glad you’ve begun to do that already.” 

“ Well, I suppose if it was anybody I didn’t know 
so well as I do Maurice I might not care about it 
much for Caroline. That’s why I don’t blame Jimmy 


258 THE GRAFTONS 

much, though he’s rather a swanky ass over that sort 
of thing.” 

“ What is it you like particularly about Maurice? 
He’s so much younger than I am — and always seemed 
rather alarmed in my presence — that I hadn’t sized 
him up as well as you seem to have done.” 

Young George was flattered at having his opinion 
asked in this way, and thought a little before answer- 
ing. “ One of the things I like about him is just that 
he doesn’t try to swank,” he said. “ I suppose it 
wouldn’t be very difficult to make your hair stick down 
and buy the right sort of ties and collars if you wanted 
to. But he doesn’t think it’s important. He’s as keen 
as mustard on making the best of himself in other ways. 
He thinks everybody has his own line in life if he can 
only find it. He’s found his all right, but he did his 
work as well as he knew how, as long as he was in that 
beastly bank. We’ve talked a lot about that sort of 
thing. I like him as a pal as well as anybody I know, 
except you, Dad.” 

“ Have you talked about your own career in life, 
Bunting? ” 

“ We’ve talked a good deal about school. He thinks 
most fellows don’t take their work seriously enough. 
He did his, but he says he hasn’t got that sort of brain, 
and didn’t make much of a hand at it. But he says it 
makes all the difference if you look upon school work 
as something you’ve got responsibility for, yourself, and 
don’t leave it all to the beaks, to see that they get 
something out of you.” 


MORE OPINIONS 


259 


“ Have you acted on his advice ? ” 

“ Well, yes, I have. I’m supposed to be rather a sap 
at school. But I find it rather jolly to take an intelli- 
gent interest in what I’m doing. Saves a lot of trouble 
with the beaks too.” 

“ You never told me that, old boy. I’m glad to hear 
it.” 

“ Well, I thought you were keener on my getting 
my eleven some day, Dad.” 

Grafton laughed. “ Oh, we fathers ! ” he said. “ And 
then they complain of a public-school education. But I 
like the idea of your working too, Bunting. I’m afraid 
I had nobody to string me up to it when I was at 
school; but I’ve done some work since, and liked doing 
it as well as anything. You’ll find most men who are 
worth anything do. And certainly school work is 
interesting if you make it so for yourself. Maurice is 
a worker, isn’t he? That’s something good about 
him.” 

“ Oh, yes ; and he’s dead straight too. He’s a chap 
you can’t help having a respect for. Of course I like 
Dick, awfully. He’s straight too, and keen on his job. 
But I think there’s even more in Maurice than there 
is in Dick. He wouldn’t have done for B, but he’ll 
do all right for Caroline. He thinks all the world of 
her, too. I know that.” 

“ Did you see this coming, then, Bunting? ” 

“ Well, no, I didn’t. I didn’t think she liked him 
in that sort of way, though she was always jolly decent 
to him. She seemed a lot older than him, and of course 


260 THE GRAFTONS 

he is a bit different from the men she’s made friends 
with before. But I’m glad she’s had the sense to see 
what a good chap he is. Jimmy says she might have 
married anybody, and it’s a come-down for her. But 
I don’t think so.” 

“ Nor do I, old son,” said Grafton. “ Nothing that 
Caroline could possibly do would be a come-down for 
her. She’s one of the people you can always trust to do 
what’s right.” 

“ She gets it from you, Dad.” 

^ No, old boy. She gets it from somebody much bet- 
tei than me.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


AFTER THE WEDDING 

Caroline was married at the beginning of the year. 
The Abbey was full of guests, as for Beatrix’s wedding, 
but there was no occasion to find other rooms else- 
where; there had not been such a demand for invita- 
tions. Caroline had wanted a very quiet wedding. She 
was not going to marry into a more or less exalted 
position, as Beatrix had done, and was going to begin, 
and continue, her married life in a very modest way. 
But her father had wanted no difference made between 
her and Beatrix, and she had given way. 

It must be confessed, however, that her wedding was 
not the bright success that Beatrix’s had been. It 
was, at the outset, one of those social functions which 
v were to be dropped out of Caroline’s life altogether. 
Maurice was not calculated to shine in them, in any 
capacity, least of all as a leading figure. He was as 
well dressed as he ever could be — Worthing had seen 
to that — but he did not look at ease in his wedding gar- 
ments, and his almost bucolic air was heightened rather 
than diminished by them. Also he looked extraordi- 
narily young; and a man who depends on the virile 
force within him, and lacks most of the graces of youth, 
does not show to any advantage until the years have 
passed over his head. The contrast between him and 

261 


262 THE GRAFTONS 

Caroline, in the full flower of her young grace and 
beauty, was so marked as scarcely to escape the notice 
of the most sympathetic, and there were many there 
who were far from being sympathetic with a marriage 
which in their view was nothing short of a misalliance. 
Nobody expressed this view to Grafton, but those who 
held it showed themselves rather too careful not to. 
Its atmosphere was all around him, and he felt more 
uncomfortable and doubtful than at any time since he 
had brought himself to consent. 

When the bride and bridegroom had driven off he 
was feeling so depressed that he determined to escape 
his duties as host for a time, and slip out for a walk. 
There was nearly an hour of winter twilight left, and a 
sharp frost. A fast walk would brace him in mind 
and body. 

He went upstairs to change his clothes. He could 
get down by a staircase at the other end of the cor- 
ridor and escape from the house without being seen, 
except perhaps by some of the servants. 

As he slipped into a tweed suit and put on a pair 
of thick-soled boots his unease of mind deepened. His 
black hour was upon him. Only at the death of his 
wife sixteen years before had he felt the heavy weight 
upon his mind that he felt now. But for that one big 
grief he had dwelt in the sunshine of prosperity, 
pleasure, the liking of his friends, the love of his 
children. The upset of mind he had endured over Bea- 
trix a year before had been by far the biggest that 
had troubled him for all those long years, and that 


AFTER THE WEDDING 263 

had never brought him the black cloud that was set- 
tling on him now. 

The marked difference in atmosphere between Caro- 
line’s wedding and Beatrix’s was not the cause of his 
mood, though it heightened, and perhaps had induced 
it. He had tested and examined himself so searchingly 
during the past weeks that the plainly-to-be-noticed 
disapproval of others could not now affect his own con- 
viction that he had taken the right course. All of 
those who had a right to express their opinions had 
had their opportunity of expressing them directly to 
him, and he had answered them. And he had satis- 
fied himself, by many signs and tokens, of Maurice’s 
essential fitness for the great trust he had reposed 
in him. He already felt an affection for the boy; that 
was the reward he had gained from sinking his own 
prejudices, and making a strong effort to see him 
with Caroline’s eyes. It was a big reward. It had 
removed from him all the discomfort of feeling that she 
was wasting her fine gifts upon one who could give her 
no adequate return for them. He had come to see that 
she was fulfilling herself in this marriage, and that the 
expression of her true and tender nature would flower 
beautifully under it, though its flowering might be 
hidden from the world at large. 

Nor had he had to make the adjustments of his own 
attitude that had troubled him when Beatrix had given 
her love. Caroline had come to be more to him than 
ever before, because he had been able to enter with her 
into the deeper places of her heart. That reward he 


264 


THE GRAFTONS 


had also gained from his self-suppression. She trusted 
him and loved him, and had shown it as she had always 
shown it, without once causing him to feel that he was 
ever so little shouldered out of his place in her heart. 

And yet the sense of irreparable loss was there in 
this black hour, and was growing deeper every moment. 
He hurried on his changing so as to get away by him- 
self and keep it at bay by fast movement; and, if he 
could, to fight it down and regain his accustomed 
equanimity. 

It was the sense of change and passing in his own 
life that had descended upon him so heavily as Caro- 
line had driven off from her old home, with her face 
set towards her new one. With parents happily mar- 
ried, where family life is welded by strong affection 
and community of taste and pursuit, there comes this 
sense of breaking up when their children begin to 
leave them. They are no longer the centre round which 
their children’s lives revolve. Mothers feel it most 
when their boys go to school, fathers when their daugh- 
ters marry. But the family life goes on ; though not 
in its fullest measure. Grafton’s had come to an end. 
He might have Barbara with him for a time when she 
had finished her education. Young George would only 
occasionally be at home, for years to come. Miss 
Waterhouse would be there. That was all that would 
remain of the happy years in which he had had them 
all around him. 

Caroline would be near him, but no longer in his 
home, to surround him with all the devotion that had 


AFTER THE WEDDING 


265 


brought him such solace since the death of her mother. 
He had not known how much he depended upon her 
until Beatrix’s marriage. She had been almost every- 
thing to him since, and had kept him from the sense 
of loss that was weighing on him now, when Beatrix 
had left him. But it was the loss of both of them 
that he was feeling, and the end and finish of the longest 
and one of the best chapters of his life. What was 
his life to be in the future? It was that question to 
which he wanted to find some sort of answer before he 
faced again the people who had come to celebrate the 
opening of a new chapter for Caroline, but the close 
of one for him. 

When he was ready to leave his room he paused be- 
fore the portrait of his young wife hanging over the 
mantelpiece. He had never wanted her more than he 
did now, to tread the downward slope with him. 

As he went along the corridor, the door of a room 
on the other side of it opened, and Ella Carruthers, 
who was staying in the house, came out. She also was 
dressed in tweeds and walking boots, and as they 
looked at one another she laughed and said : “ I see 
we both want the same thing — to get away for a bit 
and think about it.” 

His first feeling was one of annoyance. Caught like 
that, he could not suggest that he should go his way 
and she hers. But he wanted no companionship in his 
efforts to face what he had to face. 

But when he had said lightly : “ We’ll go for a sharp 
walk together, but don’t let anybody else see us,” he 


266 THE GRAFTONS 

became conscious that just this companionship would be 
good for him. 

She had been so much with his daughters that she 
was almost like one of his own family. She was only 
three or four years older than Caroline. During the 
disturbance of mind he had undergone at the time of 
Beatrix’s engagement to Lassigny she had given him 
more help than anybody — more help even than Caro- 
line, because she had a wider knowledge and experi- 
ence ; and she had shown wisdom with Beatrix too, who 
had listened to her when she would have listened to no- 
body else. If anybody could do so, she would help 
him over his dark hour. 

So they set out together through the park, making 
for unfrequented roads and lanes, and walking fast. 

Neither of them spoke for some time. Then Ella 
said : “I’m afraid it hasn’t been much of a success ; but 
I think you were right all the same.” 

“ Right in what ? ” he asked. “ In having a pukka 
wedding? ” 

“ I didn’t mean that, but I think you were right 
there, too. It showed, anyhow, that you weren’t 
ashamed of it.” 

This was pretty plain speaking. But he had en- 
couraged that from her. And she had already dis- 
cussed Maurice with him. 

“ It was rather tiresome to have them all turning up 
their noses at him,” he said. “ It reflected on Caroline, 
and I felt it because of that. For myself I don’t mind 
much. I took my own line long ago, and I’ve no reason 


AFTER THE WEDDING 


267 


to regret it. If you’ve done what you think is right, 
you’re not much affected by the opinion of other people, 
especially when they don’t judge by your standards. 
Do you think my poor little Caroline noticed it?” 

“ Noticed the sort of atmosphere of disapproval, 
do you mean ? ” 

“ She can hardly have helped noticing it. Did she 
v mind? ” 

“ I expect she would rather not have had him sub- 
jected to that test. It’s the worst he’ll ever have to 
go through, poor boy. But she would look upon it in 
the same way as you do — only more so. She would 
know that they couldn’t judge him as she does. I ex- 
pect it would make her feel all the more tender towards 
him. What he is is for her alone.” 

“ Then I don’t think we need worry. And it’s all 
over for her now. All over for me, too. Ella, I’m 
feeling it damnably. I came out to get myself straight. 
As you’ve come with me you must allow me to be 
purely egoistic. I want to go back rather happier than 
I came out. You helped me before; I believe you can 
help me now.” 

“ I’ll try,” she said. “ I expect I know something 
about it.” 

“ I don’t think you can know much, my dear. It 
will be a good many years yet before you have to face 
the fact that you’re getting old.” 

She laughed lightly. “ If that’s what’s the matter 
with you,” she said, 66 I can sweep the trouble away 
altogether. You’ve always seemed to me about as 


268 


THE GRAFTONS 


young as any of us, and you’ll go on being young till 
you die. It isn’t a question of years. I thought it 
was the reaction of the last few months.” 

“ Well, I suppose it is. But what do you mean 
by that ? ” 

“ I think you’ve behaved most awfully well,” she 
said. “ I’ve admired you very much for it, and I’m 
glad I can say so.” 

“ Oh, you mean about accepting Maurice. But 
that’s all over long ago. It was a bit difficult at first, 
but it hasn’t been difficult lately. No, it isn’t that, 
except that the late performance hasn’t cheered me up 
exactly. I think I should feel just the same if Caroline 
had married somebody that all the world would have 
accepted as suited to her. It has brought my life as 
I’ve lived it to an end. That’s what’s the matter with 
me, Ella. I’ve got to rearrange it for myself, and it’s 
rather a bleak prospect.” 

“ Tell me about it,” she said. “ I don’t quite see.” 

“ Well, I suppose most men of my sort, who have 
work that suits them, and enough money to get all the 
pleasures they want, are more or less content with 
that when they get to my age, even if their children 
mean a good deal to them. But I’m not. Family life 
has been the best thing I’ve had, and I don’t know 
what I shall do without it.” 

“ You haven’t lost them all, have you? And when 
you come down here you’ll have Caroline almost as 
much as before.” 

“ Ah, but it won’t be the same. That came simply 


AFTER THE WEDDING 


269 


rushing over me as she drove away. She’s been the 
dearest daughter to me. She’s centred herself on me. 
I suppose she’s made me selfish. She’s given me all 
that she could of what her mother would have given 
me. I’ve never valued her half enough. I think I 
loved B better than her when they were both children. 
Not much better, but perhaps enough to make her feel 
the difference. That’s rather a bad memory just now. 
I may have done it in ways that I haven’t meant to, 
that may have hurt her.” 

44 I’m sure you needn’t trouble yourself about that, 
dear Mr. Grafton,” she said, with some earnestness. 
44 She is devoted to you, in a way she couldn’t be if 
you hadn’t been just as much to her as she has to you. 
It has been lovely to see you together. And what 
you’ve been able to do lately has cemented it all as 
nothing else could have done. I know she’s felt it 
deeply, because she’s told me so. She’s full of gratitude 
and love for you. And I think you’ve earned it all. 
Oh, please don’t trouble yourself in that way. I’m 
sure you needn’t.” 

44 Well, perhaps I needn’t. There can’t have been 
much wrong, or she wouldn’t have been able to give 
me what she has. I don’t think it’s that, either, that 
is descending on me now. Things are right between 
me and all my children. I’ve only lost what every 
man must lose when he gets to my age; only, like Mrs. 
Gummidge, I feel it more. They have been my chosen 
companions. They’ve kept me young between them. 
It isn’t only that I love them. I’ve liked doing things 


270 


THE GRAETONS 


with them better than with anybody else. I get on 
with other men as well as most people. Perhaps before 
the children grew up I enjoyed myself going about and 
amusing myself with my friends as much as any man 
could. But for the last few years, and especially 
since we came to live here, I’ve liked being with them 
better than anybody — I never knew how much better 
until just now. When I’ve been up in London I’ve 
been looking forward all the week to getting down 
here again. I tell you, it’s a bleak prospect to go back 
to the sort of life I found pleasant enough ten years 
ago. I think I’ve outgrown it. It’s just passing the 
time. There’s nothing left to make it worth while.” 

She was silent for a time, and then said: “You 
know, your case and mine aren’t so very different. 
Until you all came to live here, and took me in so hap- 
pily, I was really only passing the time. It has made 
a lot of difference to me getting all the companionship 
and affection I have had here. I feel the break up of 
your family, too. It has been a delightful bit of life, 
and I feel it hasn’t lasted half long enough. Still, it 
isn’t really all over, though it has altered. Caroline 
will be here, and Barbara by and bye. Beatrix and 
Bunting, too, sometimes ; and I count for a little, don’t 
I, Mr. Grafton? You’ve let me think myself almost 
one of your family.” 

“ Oh, my dear child, you’ve made yourself part of 
it as nobody else has. I couldn’t talk like this to 
anybody but you — not even to the Dragon, who has 
an indulgent eye for my weaknesses. It is weak, I' 


AFTER THE WEDDING 


271 


suppose, to grouse as I’m doing. The children are 
happy, and I’ve helped to make them so. It’s only 
myself I’m thinking of, and I shan’t inflict my troubles 
on anybody after this. You’ve caught me just at the 
time.” 

“ I’m very glad I have,” she said. “ Perhaps I can 
do something for you in return for all you’ve done 
for me. One of the last things Caroline said to me, 
upstairs, was, 6 Take care of my darling old Daddy, 
while I’m away.’ So you see she was thinking of you, 
left alone, up to the last; and she treats me as one of 
the family. I know I can’t take her place, or B’s; 
but I can do something if you’ll let me. You’ve been 
awfully good to me. You’ve always given me help 
when I’ve wanted it, and it hasn’t been altogether easy 
to behave myself as a responsible person, when I’m still 
young enough to prefer to be looked after.” 

He smiled at her kindly. “ All women want looking 
after,” he said. “ But you’ve shown yourself remark- 
ably capable.” 

She smiled in return, rather ruefully. “ I try to be,” 
she said. “ But I don’t always feel it. It has been a 
great comfort to know I could apply to you in my 
difficulties. You’ll let me make some return now, won’t 
you? Caroline entrusted me to you, you know.” 

“ The dear child ! Well, my dear, you’ve done me 
good already. I thought you would. Yes, you’ve 
made yourself one of us, Ella. It won’t be so desolat- 
ing to come down here, if you’re about. I shall be 
bringing people down, but they won’t make up to me 


272 


THE GRAFTONS 


for the loss of my girls. You will ; so I shall hope to 
see you over here as much as ever.” 

They reached the house again, and went in by the 
same way. Barbara met them in the upstairs corri- 
dor. “ Dad, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” 
she said. “ Where ever have you both been? ” 

“ For a little walk to clear our brains,” he said. 
“ Now we’re ready to take up our duties again. What 
do you want, darling? ” 

It seemed that she wanted nothing in particular. 
She talked to him for half a minute outside his room, 
and then went downstairs to join the rest. 

That evening Ella found herself in a corner of the 
Long Gallery with Lady Grafton, with whom she had 
made friends. 

“ You’re looking very beautiful to-night,” said her 
ladyship, with an appraising and approving eye on 
her, “ and most surprisingly young. How old are you, 
exactly? I should have said about nineteen.” 

“ Thank you very much,” said Ella. “ I’m twenty- 
five. Sometimes I feel immeasurably older, but my 
happiest state is when I can think of myself as still a 
girl.” 

“ Well, you look like one to-night ; as I said, about 
nineteen. I can’t think why you haven’t married 
again. You must often have thought of it.” 

She blushed, quite like a girl. She was tall and slim 
and upright, and had some of the lithe grace of a 
beautiful Greek boy. She was beautiful in feature 
and colouring too, though it was not the kind of beauty 


AFTER THE WEDDING 


273 


that is always radiantly apparent, as Beatrix’s was. 
But to-night she was at her best, and deserved the 
encomiums passed upon her by Lady Grafton, who was 
nothing if not critical. 

44 Nobody has wanted me,” she said. 

44 Oh, come, my dear ! Don’t tell me that you’ve 
been about as much as you have, and with all 
you have to offer, without attracting the foolish race 
of men.” 

44 Anyhow, nobody has wanted me whom I have 
wanted. My first experience wasn’t a very happy one. 
I suppose you know that, and there’s no harm in say- 
ing so.” 

44 Not a bit. But you’re through with it, and it 
hasn’t left much mark. None that I can see, except 
that you’re wiser. You wouldn’t marry again without 
knowing what you were letting yourself in for. Men 
are easy enough to judge if you look at them with 
your eyes open. Of course when you’re once in love 
with them you don’t. But you can marry first and 
fall in love afterwards. It saves lots of bothers and 
gives you something interesting to do at the beginning 
of married life, which is apt to be rather dull.” 

Ella laughed. 44 1 shouldn’t care to run that risk,” 
she said. 44 One’s freedom is worth something, after 
all. I shouldn’t want to marry anybody unless I loved 
him.” 

44 No. You’re very young still. You’ve a right to 
look for that sort of thing. But there’s love and love. 
Unless you find yourself bowled over by a passion, 


274 


THE GRAETONS 


which may happen to anybody unless they’re on the 
lookout — at least, I’m told so ; it hasn’t happened to 
me yet — I should pick out a man you like and can trust 
to look after you, and make you happy. It’s much 
more comfortable in the long run, and if you manage 
him properly you’ll have all the love that’s good for 
you, and the sort that lasts.” 

“ Supposing he doesn’t pick me ! ” 

“ Oh, my dear, you could make any man pick you. 
You’d only have to pay him a little attention, and 
flatter his vanity. They’re all the same, when they 
arrive at years of indiscretion. That sounds rather 
clever. I suppose you wouldn’t want quite a young 
man. I should think you wouldn’t have much diffi- 
culty there either, though they want more careful 
handling; they’re so full of whims and crotchets. But 
I shouldn’t recommend quite a young man. Five and 
thirty to two or three and forty is the best age. I 
wish George was ten years or so younger. Then you 
might marry him, and we should keep you in the 
family. He’s the dearest old affectionate bat-eyed 
creature, really, though I never let him know that I 
think so.” 

“ Why do you call him bat-eyed? I don’t propose 
to accept your invitation, but I love him all the same; 
and I don’t think he’s bat-eyed.” 

“ Oh, my dear — the fuss he’s made about his girls ! 
I’ve had it all out with him. He thinks he’s been 
actuated solely by the most unselfish desire for their 
happiness, when all the time he’s just been hating it 


AFTER THE WEDDING 275 

because he can’t keep them forever circling round him- 
self.” 

“ I think you’re very unfair. He does love them 
awfully, and of course he hates losing them. But the 
way he’s behaved about Caroline shows that he hasn’t 
been thinking of what he wants himself. I feel very 
sorry for him now. He has to begin all over again, 
and he isn’t a bit like an old man, who can sit down 
and wait for the end. He’s as young in his mind and 
in his tastes as if he were twenty years younger.” 

“ Yes, he’s more of a baby than most men of his 
age, and that’s saying a good deal. He’s kept himself 
fit too. Oh, I don’t deny that it has been a good thing 
for him to have his children to play with. No doubt 
it has kept him out of a lot of mischief. And I’m rather 
sorry for him losing them, too, though I don’t tell 
him so. He’s too apt to be sorry for himself; and 
after all, he’s got to put up with it, like everybody 
else.” 

“ How unfeeling you are ! I’m not going to hear my 
dear Mr. Grafton criticised in that way without pro- 
testing. If he had really been selfish, as most men are, 
he would just have gone on amusing himself and hardly 
have missed the girls at all. It’s no discredit to him 
that he has been so happy in his home that he can’t 
bear it to be broken up.” 

“ I suppose he was grousing and grumbling about 
that when you went out for a walk this afternoon.” 

Ella wondered how she knew that they had been 
put for a walk, but did not ask her. " He wasn’t,” 


276 


THE GRAFTONS 


she said indignantly. 66 You say you like him, and 
you’re always trying to make him out a poor weak 
creature with no backbone at all. I think he’s a very 
wise man, and a good one too. I love him for loving 
his family as much as he does.” 

“ Oh, well, my dear, if you love him, I don’t want 
anything better. I told him the other day he ought 
to marry again, now the time has come for him to lose 
his girls. He made his first wife happy enough, and 
he’d make you. He’s no longer young, but he isn’t 
old either, and won’t be for a long time to come. He’s 
a husband you could be proud of, and he’d never let 
you down.” 

“ Thanks for the offer. I’ll wait till he makes it 
himself, and then I’ll think about it. But please don’t 
make mischief, or try to manage. As a matter of fact, 
I think the idea would rather shock him, and it isn’t 
one that appeals to me, or I shouldn’t talk about it as 
I’m doing now. He has been awfully sweet to me, and 
treated me very much like the rest. It has been just 
what I’ve wanted, for I was lonely till they came here. 
I’m going to keep it up, and help him to get over his 
bad time — dear Mr. Grafton ! If you go spreading 
those ideas about you’ll make it difficult for me. So 
please don’t.” 

“ I should be a precious fool if I did,” said Lady 
Grafton enigmatically. 


CHAPTER XX 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 

Caroline and Maurice went to the South of France 
for their honeymoon, and were away a month. On 
their return they spent a couple of days in Parte, 
where Barbara was again installed for her last three 
months with her ‘ family.’ 

Barbara had taken very kindly to Maurice. She had 
cleared the ground by telling him everything she could 
think of that she had ever said about him from the 
first. “ Now if you can like me after that,” she said, 
“ well and good. We shall be friends for life. If 
not, say so at once, and I shall know what to do.” 

Maurice had replied that he should have no difficulty 
in liking her if she would permit him, and she had 
forthwith taken him under her wing and given him 
several valuable hints on points of behaviour, from 
which he professed himself greatly to have profited. He 
had given her some in return, and they were on the 
best of terms together. 

She was allowed to spend the days with them while 
they were in Paris. Caroline soon discovered that she 
;vas not happy, and was longing to be at home again. 
She clung to her side rather pathetically, and was 
quieter than her wont, though her quietness was varied 
by bursts of gaiety. Caroline made an opportunity 
377 


278 


THE GRAFTONS 


of being alone with her soon after their arrival, and 
then it all came out. She sat by her side on a sofa 
with her head on her shoulder. 

44 It’s lovely to see you so happy, darling,” she said, 
more tenderly than she was wont to speak. 44 I think 
Maurice is a real dear, and you’ve improved him enor- 
mously already.” 

Caroline laughed. Barbara was allowed to say 
these things. 44 He’s improved me,” she said. 

44 No, he couldn’t do that, darling,” said Barbara 
caressingly. 44 You’re perfect as it is. How I do wish 
I was coming home with you. I did ask Daddy, and 
he wouldn’t let me. I hate being kept here, and I’ve 
learnt all the French I want to learn. I’m perfectly 
miserable here.” 

44 Why, darling? ” asked Caroline. 44 You were 
happy enough here before, and it won’t be long now 
before you’re at home for good.” 

44 1 don’t think I shall be much wanted when I do 
come home,” she said forlornly. 

Caroline protested warmly against this statement. 
44 You’re the only one of us left at home now to look 
after Daddy,” she ended. 44 Of course I shall see 
him a lot, but I can’t be as much with him as you 
can.” 

Barbara began to cry. She was not given to tears, 
and hated to have them commented upon when she did 
give way. She cried softly on Caroline’s shoulder. 44 1 
thought Dad would want me when you and B had 
gone,” she said, 44 1 wanted to begin at once, to be 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 279 


a lot to him. Of course he loves me, but he doesn’t 
want me as he did you and B.” 

Caroline saw that there was something behind this. 
“ Tell me about it, darling,” she said softly. 

“ I believe he’ll marry Ella,” she blurted out. “ She 
began to worm herself in the moment you had left. 
And it’s going on now. That’s what makes me so 
unhappy, being away.” 

Caroline was too surprised for the moment to say 
anything. An uneasy feeling came over her that she 
had been too immersed in her own happiness to have 
cared much what was happening to those others whom 
she loved. 

Barbara went on. “ He writes to me regularly,” 
she said, “ as he has always done. But his letters are 
full of her. She always seem to be there, whenever he 
comes down; or he goes over to Surley. He stayed 
there from Friday till Tuesday last week, instead of 
going home. He says that she has done a lot to make 
up to him for not having us. That’s how she does it, 
I suppose. I never liked her as much as the rest of 
you did, and now she’s showing what she is.” 

Caroline put this aside for the time. Her mind 
was working. “ I asked her to look after Daddy 
when I went away,” she said. “ She has written to me 
about him, and I’ve been glad. I never thought what 
you think, darling. She has been almost like one of 
us. I don’t think she can possibly think of him in that 
way, or he of her. There has been nothing in the let- 
ters of either of them to show it.” 


280 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Well, he doesn’t want me, anyhow,” said Barbara 
“ Perhaps I’m jealous, but if there were nothing else I 
don’t see why she should put herself in my place.” 

“ Poor old pet ! ” said Caroline, kissing her. 
“ Daddy couldn’t get you back again directly after 
you had come over here, to finish up. When you do 
get home you’ll be just as much to him as B and I 
have been. You know he loves you just as much, but 
we are older and — ” 

“ Oh, I’m not grumbling about that. He has always 
been perfectly sweet to me, and he hasn’t realised that 
I’m no longer a child, any more than you did up to a 
little time ago. But I was so looking forward to taking 
your and B’s place with him — I know I couldn’t do it 
as well, but I should have tried — and now she comes 
in to spoil it all. I hate her.” 

“ Why do you hate her, darling? Why have you 
never liked her as we have? ” 

“ I don’t know. It’s just that I haven’t. Perhaps 
a little because she has tried to make me. I didn’t 
exactly hold out, but somehow I couldn’t. I suppose 
I knew all the time that this was in her.” 

“ Well, Barbara, darling, I don’t think it’s as you 
say ; but supposing it were ! We ought not to set our- 
selves against it, ought we ? ” 

“ What, our own Daddy ! I think it would be hor- 
rible.” 

“ Why, darling? ” 

She did not say why, but repeated that it would be 
horrible. 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 281 


Caroline was at a loss. “ I don’t know why you 
don’t like Ella,” she said slowly. “ You are good at 
judging of people, I know — better than I am — but I 
think that I should have found it out by this time if 
there had been anything that one ought not to like 
in her. I can’t see it if there is. I think I love her 
next best after the family. I do love her.” 

“ Would you love her if you thought she wanted to 
marry Dad? ” 

“ Yes, I think perhaps I should love her all the more, 
though just at first perhaps I shouldn’t like it — I mean 
I shouldn’t like anybody to marry him. It’s difficult 
to say, before anything has happened; and I believe 
you are making a mistake too. But supposing she 
did, it could only be because she really loved him. She 
has had plenty of offers of marriage.” 

“ So she says.” 

“ Oh, Barbara, darling ! That’s silly. She is beau- 
tiful, and clever, and nice too. Even if you don’t 
agree entirely with the rest of us in liking her, 
we all do like her. And I don’t think even you have 
not liked her really, though you think now you 
haven’t.” 

“ Well, go on.” 

“ How am I to go on ? Don’t you agree that she 
wouldn’t marry him unless she loved him? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose so ; but it would be a silly sort of 
love, when he’s so much older than she is.” 

“Isn’t that rather reflecting on him? Women do 
marry men a lot older than themselves, and love them 


282 


THE GRAFTONS 


devotedly. Fm sure darling Dad is worth any woman’s 
love. He’s so kind, and understanding. And he’s 
very good-looking too, and not even elderly, as many 
men of his age are.” 

“ I can’t imagine him falling in love, especially with 
somebody like her, who has been almost like we have 
to him.” 

“ Well, that’s what makes it difficult to talk about. 
Perhaps he wouldn’t. I can’t take it for granted you 
are right. One can only look at it in a general sort of 
way; and if it did happen I don’t think there would be 
anything out of the way in it — certainly nothing hor- 
rible, as you say.” 

Barbara’s tears flowed again. “ I suppose it’s I who 
am rather horrid,” she said. “ I should be if there 
wasn’t anything in it at all. But I’m almost certain 
there is, or I shouldn’t have thought about it. Did 
you know that the moment you went away she went 
out for a walk with him?” 

“ Yes, she told me that, and that he was feeling 
frightfully depressed at losing me, and she hoped she 
had cheered him up. If that’s all, Barbara, darling, 
I think you are making a great deal out of a very 
little. I asked her to look after him, myself. Of course 
I didn’t mean any more than to be as she always has 
been.” 

“ I think you might have asked me to do that. I 
wanted to.” 

Caroline was stricken with compunction. “ Oh, dar- 
ling,” she said, “ I knew you would. I’d no idea of her 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 283 


taking your place. I know how glad he will be to have 
you back. And I’m going home now. I shall look 
after him myself.” 

“ Will you write and tell me what is happening? ” 

“ Of course I will. Everything.” 

“If that is happening, shall you try to stop it?” 

“ What could I do to stop it? ” she asked, after a 
pause. 

“ You might remind Daddy that all his daughters 
haven’t gone away from him yet. And Caroline, I 
wish you’d just say something — from yourself, I 
mean — about me being older, and that you liked having 
me to talk to and tell things to, after B was married. 
You did, you know, in the summer holidays. Daddy 
might see it if you said it about me — that I could be 
a lot to him, I mean, if he wanted me. Of course you’d 
have to do it carefully.” 

Caroline promised to do this, and left Barbara two 
days later, somewhat comforted, but still rebellious at 
her exile, at this particular time. 

She had given Caroline a good deal to think about. 
She confided Barbara’s fears to Maurice, who expressed 
himself incredulous. But on such a subject as this he 
was not much of a guide. His training had not pre- 
pared him for judging of a man considerably older 
than himself, as one who had lived more in the world 
might have done. Grafton was Caroline’s father. He 
could treat him with respect, and with affection, but 
hardly as having any of the qualities of youth remain- 
ing in him. He thought it very delightful that his 


284 


THE GRAFTONS 


family should treat him in the companionable way they 
did, which was different from any way of parents and 
children of which he had had experience; but he was 
still apt to be surprised at certain manifestations of 
their attitude towards him. Caroline felt all the time 
that it was even more difficult for him than it was for 
her to envisage her father as a man who might still 
desire for himself what belonged by right to youth. It 
was only difficult for her because he was her father. 
She had to think of him from outside herself, and she 
had plenty of experience to guide her in seeing him as 
a man who might legitimately look for a further period 
of happiness in marriage, and as quite capable of 
gaining the love and devotion of a woman much younger 
than himself, and of keeping it. 

“ I do want him to be happy,” she said, “ and in his 
own way. Of course it would mean that he would give 
to her a great deal of what we have all had, and that’s 
why poor little Barbara hates it so. But after all it 
is just what has happened with us — with B and me, 
and will happen by and bye with Barbara. He isn’t 
less to us than he was, but he’s no longer everything. 
We shouldn’t be less to him.” 

“ I think you would,” said Maurice. “ It isn’t quite 
the same.” 

The idea still shocked him a little, and for the first 
time he was unwilling to express all his thoughts to 
Caroline, for they would seem to reflect upon her father. 
His simplicity and singleness of purpose went along 
with some rigidity of mind and outlook. Life pre- 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 285 


sented itself to him in elementary forms, and his ideas, 
born partly from his very limited experience, had not 
yet fully expanded under the influence of the great 
change that had come to himself. It was a man’s right 
course to find his work in the world and to give himself 
up to it. All the rest would be added in due season, 
and he must not step out of his path to seek it for him- 
self. He had lately learned that work can have a con- 
secration that will lift it to a still higher plane of 
rightness ; but that discovery had only settled his con- 
victions. He did not think of Grafton as a man who 
had ever put his work in its proper place. He had 
seen him only enjoying the fruits of it, and depending 
upon those fruits for most of his contentment in life. 
He might not acknowledge it, even to himself, of Caro- 
line’s father, and certainly he would not have acknowl- 
edged it to her, but his tendency was to regard a man 
to whom life came so easily as it did to Grafton as liable 
to be weakened in fibre. He might take to himself grati- 
fications that did not legitimately belong to him. In 
some respects the conventions of youth are more bind- 
ing than those of age. Maurice would not have been 
disturbed at the idea of his father-in-law married again, 
to a lady of ripe age. He could not accustom himself 
to the idea of his falling in love at the age of fifty-one, 
and hoped that Barbara’s fears would prove to be un- 
founded. 

They went home by way of Havre and Southampton, 
and reached Abington without going to London. The 
Abbey was empty. Miss Waterhouse was away visit- 


286 


THE GRAFTONS 


ing, and Grafton was tied to the Bank that week. He 
was to stay at Stone Cottage over the week-end and 
Caroline made the most loving preparations for his 
reception. 

Her happiness, but for the cloud brought by Bar- 
bara’s fears, which try as she would she could not treat 
otherwise than as a cloud, was complete. The cottage, 
which had been renovated for them throughout, was as 
charming a little house as any newly married couple 
could wish to inhabit. Her father had offered to en- 
large it for her, but she had wanted to run it on a 
modest scale, with only one servant, and as the wife of 
a poor man to do a great deal in it herself. Electric 
light had been installed, and a sumptuously fitted bath- 
room. Otherwise, except for its new paint and papers, 
it was as Mollie Pemberton and her mother had made 
themselves happy in. 

Caroline had had her way with all the furnishing 
and arrangements of the Abbey when they had come 
to live there, but her zest for her very own little house 
was in no way diminished. It was almost too full of 
wedding presents, many of which would have been more 
suitable for the wife of a rich man than of a poor one. 
But Caroline had a genius for making a room. Mollie 
Pemberton opened her eyes when she saw what she had 
done with Stone Cottage. 

Mollie and her husband, the Prescotts, Worthing, 
and Ella Carruthers, all came to see her on the day 
of her arrival, or the day after, and all helped her to 
get into order. She thought she must know from 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 287 

Ella’s manner if what Barbara dreaded had come to 
pass, or was coming to pass. But she could tell noth- 
ing. Ella was just the same to her as ever, and 
showed herself delighted and excited at having her back. 
She seemed to have nothing to hide, and talked about 
Grafton with the frank affection that she had always 
exhibited towards him. If Caroline had not seen Bar- 
bara, no idea of any change would have come to her. 

And yet she was not sure that Barbara was not 
right. 

On the third morning she went to the Abbey to fetch 
some things for her father, who was coming down that 
evening. 

It was rather sad to see it deserted, by all except the 
servants. But she did not feel sad on her own ac- 
count. She now stood outside it, and the life it rep- 
resented. She went through the large and beautiful 
rooms, so different from those in which her own life 
was to be spent, and asked herself whether she would re- 
gret anything that she had given up to marry Maurice. 
She could not find in herself the least desire to inhabit 
such a house again, even with him. She had immensely 
enjoyed coming to it, and dealing with it, but those 
enjoyments seemed now to have belonged to a different 
person. She had taken naturally the good things that 
had come to her through wealth, and found pleasure 
in them; but she wanted them no longer. She had 
something much better. Her happiness, as she went 
through the house, and into the gardens, was singing 
in her. The house and the gardens themselves had 


288 


THE GRAFTONS 


given her happiness, but it was nothing to this new- 
found happiness, and they spoke to her scarcely at all 
now for herself. She was thinking all the time of her 
own little house in the village. 

Not quite all the time. Her thoughts were much oc- 
cupied with her father. The empty house, which for 
some time he would have to inhabit alone, or with the 
companionship of guests instead of that of his children 
who had surrounded him with love and affection, 
brought home to her fully for the first time what he had 
lost. If the light of the house had gone out for her, 
it had gone out for him also. But she had her home 
and her centre of love elsewhere. 

She thought of the mother whom she had known and 
loved as a child, and still loved, as she knew he did. 
If she had been alive he would not thus have come to 
the end of most of what had made his home dear to 
him. She wondered what it would have felt like to 
come home from her honeymoon and find her mother 
waiting for her. Her old home would not have lost so 
much of its meaning if she had been there. But she 
did not think much about herself except to ask what 
she could do to make up to her father for his loss. 

She thought, rather sadly on his behalf, that the 
very perfection of their family life must make the 
change worse for him. She would be much with him 
when he came down to Abington, but not the constant 
companion she had been hitherto. He had done hardly 
anything there without her, and she had devoted her- 
self to him as now she would devote herself to her hus- 


CAROLINE’S HOME-COMING 289 


band. She had gained immeasurably, and a great part 
of her gain was his loss. She knew that she had been 
more to him than any of the others, and that he had 
come more and more to depend upon her. She had 
loved him to come to her with any new idea or discov- 
ery, which would have lost half its value to him unless 
they had shared it. His letters since her marriage 
had been full of little jokes and felicities to which he 
had wanted her response ; and she had always given it, 
but with the knowledge that it was no longer to him 
that she would take her own little discoveries and ap- 
preciations, and that he might sooner or later, unless 
she was very careful, be saddened by the change in 
her. He would never claim more than his right, but 
the change would be there, of necessity, and the loss 
to him. 

Ought she not to be glad if he had found some one 
in whom his affections and home-loving desires could 
centre themselves again — some one who would give him 
back the devotion that he so richly deserved. It was 
natural that poor little Barbara should think that her 
turn had come to be his chosen companion, and resent 
the intrusion of another into the place she was so 
touchingly anxious to fill. But Barbara could not be 
expected to realise that her part would probably only 
be played for a few years at the most, and that when 
she left home the change would fall upon him still 
more heavily. And by that time his chance of winning 
for himself what he might want would be less. Per- 
haps it would have disappeared altogether. Caroline 


290 


THE GRAFTONS 


thought that her father would not deliberately set him- 
self to choose a wife with whom he might be happy. 
But if a woman so beautiful and so suited to him in 
mind as Ella were to show him now that she loved 
him well enough to marry him — surely his children who 
loved him should do nothing to dim the happiness that 
might be his ! 

And yet she was not quite happy about it. 


CHAPTER XXI 


A VISIT 

Preparations for her father’s visit were a serious af- 
fair with Caroline, and with Maurice too, for he saw 
how much it meant to her, and loved every manifes- 
tation of her personality. 

At the same time he was a little nervous about it all. 
There seemed to him such an immense difference be- 
tween the way of living which was natural to himself, 
and that which Caroline took for granted, even in this 
modest home of theirs. All the beautiful furnishing 
and appointments, as perfect on their smaller scale 
as those to be found at the Abbey, he took pleasure in 
as the right setting for Caroline, and as giving her 
pleasure; but they said nothing to him apart from 
her, and he found them even a little irksome. They 
marked the difference between him and her, and, es- 
pecially in the light of her careful and loving prepara- 
tions, between him and her father. 

Grafton was not a man to whom creature comforts 
were all in all. He could have roughed it if neces- 
sary, even at his age, as well as Maurice himself. But 
it seemed to Maurice that he needed as much atten- 
tion and cosseting as a woman. His bedroom was ar- 
ranged so that he should miss nothing of what he was 
accustomed to — his personal belongings brought down 
291 


292 


THE GRAFTONS 


from the Abbey, his bedside table furnished with care- 
fully shaded light, books, cigarettes, matches, ash-tray. 
His own servant was to be in waiting for him when he 
came, to deal with his clothes, and again in the morn- 
ing, when he was to have his tea,at the early hour he 
affected. There were the soaps and salts he liked in 
the bathroom, and the bath sheet was to be warmed 
and sent up at exactly the right time. Meals were a 
subject of earnest discussion between Caroline and her 
maid, and immense care was to be taken in preparing 
them. He had stocked their tiny cellar himself, and 
old Jarvis was called in to decide upon the question 
of wines and liqueurs, Maurice being entirely ignorant 
on such subjects. And Jarvis was to wait at table. 
The maid, though a treasure, could not do justice to the 
occasion. 

In as far as all this meant that Caroline was dis- 
playing the charming desire of a young housewife to 
acquit herself well, and to do honour to one whom she 
loved, he could sympathise with her. But he did not see 
that it meant that almost entirely, and put a good deal 
of it down to the exigencies of a rich man, which Caro- 
line had rather wasted herself hitherto in satisfying. 

He was in process of adjusting himself all round. 
He would not have believed beforehand that so many 
of the ways of a large house could have been imported 
into a small one, run with one servant, as were sur- 
rounding him in Stone Cottage. They would not al- 
ways live exactly as they were going to live during the 
few days of Grafton’s visit. But the life to which they 


A VISIT 


293 


were already settling down was far more elaborate 
than any he had ever lived before, even in Worthing’s 
bachelor establishment, which was run on more elabo- 
rate lines than those of his father’s vicarage. 

Caroline busied herself greatly about the house, do- 
ing much of the work in the rooms, and even in the 
kitchen, herself. But that was when he was out. 
Whenever he saw her she was no more occupied with 
such work than she had been at the Abbey. She would 
be in her drawing-room, having changed her clothes, 
ready to give him his tea when he came home, and she 
would keep him bright company afterwards. Then she 
would dress for dinner, and of course it was taken for 
granted that he would dress, too. The little dinner 
would be perfect, and the invaluable maid would serve 
it in such fashion that it was difficult to think of her 
as having also cooked it. Then after their coffee they 
would go into the drawing-room, where it seemed 
profanation for Maurice to smoke a pipe. So, though 
Caroline encouraged him to do so, he was preparing 
himself to knock it off altogether, and content himself 
with a cigarette after dinner until later in the evening. 

To a man brought up to this way of living it would 
have been a miracle of happiness to have had it all so 
cleverly provided for him by the young wife who was 
anxious that he should miss nothing of what he had 
been used to. The little parlour, beautifully furnished 
as it was, was not a lady’s boudoir, in which a man 
could not feel himself at home. There was a big easy 
chair, books, and magazines, arrangements for writ- 


294 


THE GRAFTONS 


ing. But though the whole house and all its arrange- 
ments were to Caroline the last word in simplicity and 
economy, it was complicated luxury to him, of a sort 
that he could only adopt as his ordinary mode of life 
for her sake. It was not he who had gained it for her, 
or he might have taken more pride in it. As against 
this it was part of her, who was so much more deli- 
cately nurtured than himself, and the fit setting for 
her delicate charm, which he, as much as any of those 
who considered it ill-allied with his outward absence 
of charm and delicacy, thought of as setting her above 
him. So he was happy in adapting himself to what 
meant restraint and careful watchfulness to him. In 
all essentials her desires were as simple and unenvious 
as his. He knew that if their lot had been cast in a 
new country, where she would have had few or none 
of the refinements that she had always lived with, she 
would have made nothing of doing without them, and 
would have worked for him as he would have worked 
for her. She should never guess, if he could help it, 
that this sophisticated life was uncongenial to him. 
He had her, as his constant delight and treasure, and 
what did anything else matter? 

Caroline went to the station alone to meet her father. 
Maurice had work to finish at the office, or said he had. 
He thought that Grafton would like to have her to him- 
self alone at their first meeting. He was full of these 
little delicacies of mind, and of thoughtfulness for 
others. And her tenderness for her father had awak- 
ened an echo of it in himself. He had been so generous 


A VISIT 


295 


to him, giving him this priceless gift, which he had done 
so little to deserve, and losing so much in the giving 
of it. He was anxious to please him, and efface himself 
in doing so. There was not much he could do to show 
him gratitude. But she could do a great deal. 

Only, if Grafton were preparing to transfer the 
centre of his affections from the hearts that had hith- 
erto held it, Maurice would not look upon him with 
quite the same eyes. 

He thought about it as he sat at his table in the office, 
not very busy with the work that he had given himself 
to do. He could not yet get used to the idea, try as 
he would. He thought that it was troubling Caroline, 
though she was preparing herself to welcome it if it 
should happen. It disturbed him somewhat that there 
was already a subject upon which they could not talk 
together with the freedom which it was their joy to 
use in everything. But to express all his thoughts 
would be to criticise her father, and he would not do 
that. In the sanguine spirit of youth, he hoped that 
this visit would prove that the fear was unfounded, 
and returned to his work. 

In the meantime Caroline, driving to the station, was 
wondering what Maurice really thought of it, for she 
knew well enough that he had not told her all his 
thoughts. He might just as well have done so, for she 
divined the course they took, and was only ignorant of 
the strength of his antagonism to the idea. In this, as 
in smaller matters, she had to distinguish between ideas 
of his which arose from his true and right attitude to 


296 


THE GRAFTONS 


the basic facts of life and conduct, and those prompted 
by his limited experience. In all essentials she re- 
spected his judgment as that of no other man. But 
in some non-essentials she knew that her own opinion 
was of more value than his, and that she could influence 
him. Was this question of her father’s marriage one 
in which she ought to take his view, or be guided by 
her own wider experience, and influence him towards 
hers? She was divided between loyalty to her father 
and loyalty to her husband, but for the present she 
no more than he was able to solve the problem. She 
put it from her mind, and gave herself up to pleasure 
in the prospect of seeing her father again. 

But even this pleasure was slightly tinged with doubt. 
Two strands were interwoven in her love for her father. 
Of late years he had been so much her preferred com- 
panion, and her position in his household had been 
such, that there had come about a sense of equality 
more than exists commonly between father and daugh- 
ter. It was the spirit of companionship that in its 
fullest measure she had transferred to Maurice, and its 
transference had thrown into relief again the filial rela- 
tionship, which had been strengthened by the quality 
of the love her father had shown towards her over her 
marriage. He had effaced himself. There had been no 
flaw in his tender paternal care for her welfare and hap- 
piness. Her grateful devotion to him was stronger than 
ever, but it flowed towards his father-hood in a fuller 
degree than of late years. She recognised this change 
in her and thought that the idea of his marriage to one 


A VISIT 


297 


who had shared with her the happy associations that 
were not wholly filial would not have perplexed her as 
it did now if it had arisen a year before. She was not 
so far from Maurice in her emotions towards it as 
either of them thought. 

But the doubts were all swept away when they met. 
He was her father, loving and overjoyed to see her 
again, and apparently as excited at the prospect of 
playing guest to her hostess as she was. 

She had hardly ever seen him in higher spirits than 
during their drive home together. They laughed to- 
gether all the time, and she felt the bond between them 
to be as strong as ever. 

Her cup of happiness was full when they reached 
home and his pleasure showered itself over her husband 
as well as herself. His greeting of Maurice was of the 
warmest, and without an atom of constraint. She knew 
that he had had a struggle with himself to accept him 
for her sake, and what valiant effort he had made to 
conceal it. But she felt now at last that the need of 
effort on his part no longer existed. Maurice was a 
son to him, at least as much as Dick was. In fact he 
showed more affection towards him than he habitually 
showed towards Dick, putting his hand on his shoulder 
as they stood together for a minute before the fire in 
the parlour, and chaffing him and Caroline together as 
two children absurdly but thrillingly placed in a po- 
sition of responsibility. 

When he had been conducted to his room, where 
Jarvis had made all ready for him to dress for dinner, 


298 


THE GRAFTONS 


and Caroline had changed the position of some things 
on his dressing-table, and Maurice had poked the fire, 
before withdrawing, they smiled happily at one an- 
other. “ It’s jolly to have him here,” said Maurice. 
“ And he is so pleased to see you again.” 

“ You too, darling,” said Caroline. “ He’s awfully 
sweet to both of us.” 

“ I’m pleased enough to see him,” said Maurice. 
“ There’s nobody in the world I’d rather have here. 
He’s awfully pleased about Beatrix too.” 

Grafton had told Caroline on their way home that 
Beatrix was expecting a child, and a letter from her 
to Caroline had come by the evening post. They talked 
about it at intervals during the evening. Caroline 
laughed at the idea of his becoming a grandfather, but 
in her slightly altered attitude towards him the rela- 
tionship seemed more fitting to him than it would have 
done before. There was no doubt about his pleasure 
in it. 

Ella’s name was mentioned, quite naturally by him. 
“ She’s been a great consolation to me while you’ve 
been away,” he said. “ Sometimes I haven’t missed 
you in the least, darling. She has been quite like one 
of the family.” 

Would he have said this if he had been thinking of 
giving her the chief place in the family? Maurice 
thought not, when he and Caroline talked it all over 
at the end of the evening. His own fears, he told her, 
were at an end. Her father had allowed Ella to con- 
sole him for the loss of his daughters, because she 


A VISIT 


299 


had been more like them than anybody else. But it was 
them he really wanted. Now Caroline had come home 
that was plain enough to be seen. 

Caroline was inclined to think as he did. Her 
father’s high spirits and his obvious pleasure in having 
her back had made everything just perfect, and the 
way that he had taken Maurice into it all gave her 
the idea that he was happier in her new happiness than 
if he had kept her to himself. Such an attitude re- 
lieved her of the uneasy balancing of the claims of hus- 
band and father. If his fatherhood could take them 
both in and sun itself in their happiness, so that the 
thought of them would always be present with him, 
there would be much to balance the loss of her compan- 
ionship to him. He might indeed have almost as much 
of it as before, since she would always be at Abington 
when he was there; and to enjoy it with that of Maurice 
added, so that what had knitted the two of them to- 
gether would now knit the three, would be a gain all 
round. It would even heighten her appreciation of her 
own married happiness, for it would bring Maurice 
nearer to her in the one big thing in her life that 
would otherwise tend, however slightly and on the sur- 
face, to divide their aims. 

She was very happy when she fell asleep, and thought 
of her dear father lying under her roof, still as near 
to her as he had ever been. But when she awoke in 
the night, after realising with some pleasurable emo- 
tion that he was there, and not going to sleep again 
immediately, the doubts began to creep in. 


300 


THE GRAFTONS 


Might not these delightfully high spirits, which she 
had attributed to his joy in being with her again, and 
his pleasure in the thought of Beatrix’s child coming 
— might they not have sprung from another source 
altogether? Ella was coming over to lunch that day, 
and they were to lunch with her on Sunday. If she 
was becoming, or had already become, the beloved ob- 
ject, that exhilaration which had made him seem as 
young as either of them throughout the evening past 
would be sufficiently accounted for. She knew from 
her own experience, and from memories of Beatrix, 
how the joy of loving and being loved effervesces in 
sparkling merriment, and sheds itself over those who 
are loved already. It saddened her a little to think that 
her father’s whole-hearted acceptance of Maurice, 
which had so charmed her that evening, might after all 
only mean that she herself was no longer of paramount 
importance to him. His pleasure in, their society 
would remain, but it would not call forth of itself that 
demonstration of happiness. It would not be they who 
had caused the years to fall off him. 

She could come to no conclusion, except that if he 
were in the early stage of discovery that he might still 
love and be loved, it would affect him to just that in- 
surgence of youthful spirit that he had shown through- 
out the evening. 

He was less hilarious in manner the next morning, 
but still cheerfully content at being where he was. 
All three of them went down to the Abbey and looked 
for early flowers in the rock-garden. Then Maurice 


A VISIT 


301 


went off to his work, and he and Caroline went to see 
the Prescotts, and after that he wrote a long letter to 
Beatrix while she busied herself with preparations 
for luncheon. 

Ella came, and there was a revival of the high spirits ; 
but all of them shared in it. There was nothing that 
there had not been scores of times before, when she had 
been with them and they had all made merry together. 
Nothing to indicate either in him or in her that the af- 
fectionate terms they had always been on now hid some- 
thing deeper. The affection on either side expressed it- 
self plainly enough, and to an outsider would certainly 
have seemed to indicate an unusual attraction; but 
it was what they had gradually come to. She had 
been given the affection of the family, his no less than 
theirs, and returned it. 

Caroline wrote a long letter to Barbara, when he 
had gone back to London. “ Really, darling, I think 
you are wrong. She does love him, just as all of us do, 
and he is awfully sweet to her, as he is to us. It has 
always been the same, and we have been glad of it. If 
you had not put it into my head that there might be 
something more, I should only have felt pleased that 
she had been able to console him for us all being away. 
Perhaps I haven’t been quite certain, but I do think 
that if it had been as you think I should have known it. 
For one thing I think he would haVe wanted to be 
alone with her sometimes, and perhaps she with him, 
if it were she who wanted it, as you seemed to think. 
But neither of them ever showed any wish at all to be 


302 


THE GRAFTONS 


by themselves, even for a minute or two. It was all 
of us being happy and merry together, as it has al- 
ways been. And w r hat makes me feel more than any- 
thing that it can’t be is that darling Dad seems older 
at the same time that he seems younger. He has been 
simply adorable to Maurice and me, and Maurice 
loves him almost as much as I do. And he is in a 
heaven of delight about precious B, and is going to 
rush off to her Jthis afternoon the moment he can get 
away from the Bank. I can’t help thinking that if 
he had it in his mind to begin all over again, for 
himself, with somebody so much younger, he wouldn’t 
be quite so pleased at the idea of being a 
grandfather. 

44 And he was awfully sweet about you too, darling. 
He made me tell him everything about you, and kept 
on asking questions about you. He does love you aw- 
fully, and it will be splendid when you come home, and 
can look after him, and make him happy, as B and I 
have tried to do.” 

Barbara’s fears were not allayed by this letter. 
44 He hasn’t said he wants me home,” she remarked to 
herself. 44 If he had, she’d have said so. I should only 
be in the way.” 

Caroline went up to London for a day’s shopping 
that week. She lunched with Lady Grafton, and her 
father came to meet her, but had to leave immediately 
afterwards. 

44 The dear man ! ” said Lady Grafton. 44 I’ve never 
seen him so pleased with himself. It has given him a 


A VISIT 


303 


new lease of life. If it weren’t for his hair you might 
take him to be about thirty.” 

They had been talking about Beatrix, and Caroline 
thought she referred to that. “ He’ll love being a 
grandfather,” she said. “He’ll be like he was to us 
when we were children, with B’s baby.” 

“ Let’s hope he’ll have babies of his own,” said 
Lady Grafton uncompromisingly. “ Most men 
wouldn’t care about it at his age; but he will. He’ll 
dote on them.” 

Caroline was taken back. Those possibilities had 
been absent from her mind, though Ella’s name had 
been mentioned more than once. “ What do you 
mean? ” she asked. 

“ Oh, my dear, you can’t be as blind as all that. 
When did you ever see a man in the state he’s in unless 
he was in love, and things were going well with him? ” 

Caroline was silent. 

“ Haven’ t you seen anything? ” Lady Grafton asked. 

“ You mean with Ella? ” 

“ That shows you have. You ought not to be jealous 
and selfish about it, you know. He hasn’t been to 
you. He behaved extraordinarily well over your mar- 
riage.” 

“ I know he did,” said Caroline quickly. She wanted 
no enlightenment of her aunt’s opinions upon her 
marriage. “ I shouldn’t be jealous or selfish if he 
wanted that to make him happy. But I don’t think he 
does.” 

“ It’s what would make him happy, isn’t it? She’s 


304 


THE GRAFTONS 


a very charming creature, and she’s devoted to him. 
She’d give him all the sort of young brightness that he’s 
had from you, and a lot more besides. I don’t say you 
are selfish. You never have been. But he isn’t every- 
thing to you any longer, and you can’t be everything 
to him, though I know you’ll be everything you can. 
You ought to be glad that there’s somebody who can 
step in and fill your place.” 

“ Dear Aunt Mary, I think I should be, if I thought 
it was likely to happen. But you wouldn’t expect me 
not to feel just a little sad that we shouldn’t be every- 
thing to him any longer, as you say.” 

This was what Lady Grafton wanted. She did not 
like Caroline’s marriage, and if her affection for her 
niece prevented her saying so, she was yet in the state 
of finding relief by being a little hard on her. 

“ That’s only jealousy,” she said. “ And at bot- 
tom it’s the jealousy of the young towards those they 
look upon as elderly. The fact is that George ought 
to have married again while he was still a young man. 
Almost any woman would have been glad enough to 
have him, and with the right sort of woman he’d 
have been a husband in a thousand. He was, as long 
as it lasted. He didn’t marry again because he devoted 
himself to all of you instead, and as long as that lasted 
he had all he wanted, though not as much as he might 
have had. Now he’s lost it. B hardly thinks of him 
at all, except when she’s with him, and of course he’s 
nothing to you beside your husband. I don’t blame 
you for that, It’s natural enough, especially when 


A VISIT 


305 


you’re first married. But he loses it all the same.” 

“ I don’t believe he feels that he’s lost it. Maurice 
is almost as devoted to him as I am.” 

Lady Grafton refrained from saying: “ So he ought 
to be,” and said instead: “ I’m glad to hear that,” but 
in a tone that made Caroline regret that she had 
brought his name in. Of course Aunt Mary was in- 
capable of understanding what she and Maurice to- 
gether might be to her father. “ I do love him,” she 
said, “ as much as ever ; even more, I think, because he’s 
been so good to me. I don’t believe anybody in the 
world loves their father more than I do. It doesn’t 
make me love him less because I love my husband. He 
knows that.” 

“ Oh, my dear, we’re not talking about all that. 
You’ve given him the love of a daughter; so has B, 
though she hasn’t been as careful about it as you 
have. It was enough for him as long as you were all 
with him. Now you can no longer be with him it isn’t 
good enough for him, though no doubt it will always 
count for a good deal. He wants the love and atten- 
tion in his home, and he has a right to it if he can get 
it. What you want to do is to keep him tied down to 
his position as a father, and a grandfather. You can’t 
see that other people may look upon him in quite a 
different light. He’s an unusually attractive man, and 
extraordinarily well preserved. You've all had some- 
thing to do with keeping him young, and I’ve always 
said so. It isn’t every woman, or even every girl, who 
falls in love with callow youth.” 


306 


THE GRAFTONS 


Caroline had something of her father’s equability 
under attack. “ I suppose that’s a hit at me,” she 
said with a smile. “ I shouldn’t be surprised, you know, 
at anybody falling in love with Dad. I know what a 
darling he is. But I’m not going to take blame to my- 
self for thinking of him more as a father, or even as 
a grandfather. Do you think Ella loves him in that 
way? I know she does love him. You’ve seen her, 
haven’t you, since I’ve been away? ” 

“ Yes, I’ve seen her. What I think is that they’re 
both of them absolutely ready for it. But they might 
be held back, and a great chance of happiness for both 
of them lost, by doubts of how you would take it. 
Now I shan’t say any more. You’d better think it 
over.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE FAMILY VIEW 

Dick went off on a cruise, and Beatrix came to stay at 
Abington. She came for a few days to Caroline, and 
then moved down to the Abbey to be with her father 
when he came home at the end of the week. 

Caroline thought her more lovely than ever. She 
was radiantly happy at the thought of her child com- 
ing, but rather quieter than she had been wont to be, 
though at times she showed all her exuberant high 
spirits. 

She and Maurice got on very well together, but 
Caroline knew, and he also probably knew, that she 
did not take much interest in him. She was bright 
and friendly with him when he was there, but when 
he wasn’t she seldom mentioned him. But she clung 
to Caroline. She had to come to her, she told her. 
Even if Dick hadn’t been obliged to go off, she would 
have left him and come. Or perhaps she would have 
asked Caroline to come to her. Here she laughed. 
44 I’m more in love with him than ever,” she said, 44 and 
I can’t bear to be parted from him. But I want you 
too, darling, awfully. I do miss you, and I wish we 
lived nearer to each other.” 

So she would have flown to her mother at this time. 
Caroline felt very tenderly towards her. She was such 
307 


308 


THE GRAFTONS 


a child, in spite of her approaching motherhood. 
Maurice was touched, too, by her dependence upon 
Caroline. Caroline told her some of the things he had 
said about her, and she said : “ He’s an awful dear, 
Cara,” and then went on to talk about Dick. 

They talked a great deal also of their father. Bea- 
trix was inclined to Lady Grafton’s views, which had 
been imparted to her as well as to Caroline. “ The 
idea was rather a shock at first,” she said. 66 But 
when I came to think it over I thought it would be 
rather hard lines on the old darling not to be pleased 
about it, if it happens. He’s not so frightfully much 
older than Dick. If Dick had been married at eighteen, 
as one of his shipmates was, we were reckoning it out 
that he might have a daughter of fourteen now, and 
she’d only be two years younger than Bunting.” 

Caroline laughed. “ I don’t quite see what that has 
to do with it,” she said. 

“ Oh, I do. What I mean is that because he’s our 
dear old Daddy, we don’t think of him as somebody 
who ought to be falling in love at his time of life. 
But I don’t see why he shouldn’t. And he’s a million 
times better-looking than heaps of young men. If he 
were on the stage lots of silly girls would be in love 
with him.” 

Caroline laughed again. “ I’ve got over all that 
feeling, if I ever had it,” she said. “ And Ella has 
been married before. She has been like a girl with 
us, but she’s older in a great many ways. I suppose it 
would be suitable enough.” 


THE FAMILY VIEW 


809 


“ Oh, I think so. And it would be more fun for the 
old darling to marry somebody he was in love with, 
than just to marry again — somebody like the Dragon, 
perhaps — just because we have got married and he 
feels rather lonely. Aunt Mary says that it isn’t fair 
to expect him just to sit down by himself and think of 
us and our babies. He has as much life in him as any- 
body else, and he has given us the best part of it. 
Now we’ve left him he ought to have a chance on 
his own account. I don’t look at it quite like that, 
but—” 

“ I’m sure he doesn’t,” Caroline interrupted her. 
“ He has been the dearest father to us that anybody 
could have had, but we have made him happy, too. It 
isn’t as if he had sacrificed himself.” 

“ That’s what I told her, and she said the sacrifice 
would begin now, if we didn’t do all we could to help 
this on. What does Ella think about it, Cara? You 
ought to have found out by this time. I’m not sure I 
shan’t ask her when I see her.” 

“ You won’t want to when you do see her. She is 
just the same— towards him and towards us. I think 
she always will be. That’s why I sometimes think that 
it would be rather nice if it did happen — nice for us, 
I mean, as well as for Dad.” 

“ That’s what I have come to think, too, with Aunt 
Mary to assist me. What she says is that if there were 
a question of his marrying somebody of what would 
be called a suitable age we should probably be glad of 
it, as we shouldn’t have to bother ourselves about Dad 


310 


THE GRAFTONS 


when we simply wanted to be selfish with our own homes 
and husbands.” 

“ Yes, that’s the sort of thing that Aunt Mary would 
say.” 

“ But what we really object to is his having the sort 
of happiness we have got for ourselves. Because he 
wouldn’t get any of it from us .” 

“ There is generally a spice of truth in Aunt Mary’s 
sharp speeches, which is worth looking out for. You 
haven’t told me what Dick says about it.” 

“ Oh, Dick takes the man’s point of view, of course. 
Man remains a lovable creature till he’s about seventy, 
or eighty or ninety. A woman has to leave off expect- 
ing to be loved when she’s about thirty. He says Dad 
is as young as anybody, and he can’t see what all the 
fuss is about.” 

“ I don’t know that there is any fuss. Except with 
poor darling Barbara. She hates it.” 

“ Poor lamb ! Of course she was looking forward to 
having her innings, with both of us married.” 

“ She has never liked Ella as much as we have.” 

“ I haven’t noticed much difference. Of course she’s 
jealous of her now. But that would calm down. I 
should like Dad to have some more children. He’d be 
awfully sweet to them. Fancy! They’d be younger 
than mine.” 

Beatrix then went on to talk about her baby that 
was coming. 

Barbara wrote to Bunting. He was to tell her what 
he thought. She should not object, she added, to hear 


THE FAMILY VIEW 


311 


Jimmy’s view on the subject. Bunting was to tell 
Jimmy that she had thought over all he had said to 
her, and beyond a slight interest in a man who gave 
tickets for umbrellas at the Luxembourg Gallery, which 
she had subdued, she had behaved exactly as he would 
have wished since she had been back in Paris. 

Young George imparted this piece of information 
first, as he and Jimmy took a Sunday afternoon walk 
together. 44 She did have you on,” he said. 44 You 
have to keep your eyes skinned when Barbara begins to 
pull your leg.” 

44 1 can’t say I care for that sort of thing much my- 
self,” said Jimmy. 44 Still, you must take people as 
you find them. If Barbara finds it amusing to play the 
fool in that way, I don’t much mind. She is growing 
up into a very nice sort of girl and one can forgive 
her a few antics. I say, George, I shall have Feltham 
some day, and be fairly well off, I suppose. I don’t 
suppose your Governor would object, would he, if 
anything were to come of it between Barbara and 
me ? ” 

44 Anything were to come of what ? ” asked Bunt- 
ing. 

44 Oh, well, I should have thought you could have 
seen that Barbara is a good deal more to me than other 
girls. Of course I chaff her, and treat her in some 
ways as a kid, but — ” 

44 1 should have thought that was how she treated 
you.” 

* 4 Well, it’s our way of treating each other. I don’t 


312 


THE GRAFTONS 


suppose she thinks of me as a kid any more than I do 
of her. I don’t go as far as to say that she’s gone on 
me, or anything of that sort. She’s too young at 
present to be gone on anybody, however much she may 
lark and rot about it. And I haven’t done anything 
to make her yet. I’m only asking you, supposing it 
took me that way, and I was serious about it, I might 
be the sort of fellow your Governor wouldn’t mind 
Barbara marrying? ” 

44 I should think he’d be half off his head with de- 
light,” said Young George. 44 I say, Jimmy, there’s 
something I want to consult you about. Barbara has 
written to me about it, and she says I can.” 

44 I shall be pleased to give you my advice, George. 
Her, too, if she wants it. How did she — er — put it — 
that she wanted it.” 

“ Oh, she said : 4 1 don’t mind your telling that little 
ass, Jimmy, and see what he thinks,’ or something of 
that sort. She didn’t mean anything by it.” 

44 Oh, no. I don’t mind. It’s the way we treat 
each other. Well, what’s the trouble, old man?” 

Young George told him. 

44 Ah,” said Jimmy sapiently. 44 I’ve been wondering 
how long it would be before you tumbled to that. It’s 
the talk of the county.” 

44 Do you mean that, or is it only swank because 
you always see everything — generally before it hap- 
pens ? ” 

44 My dear chap, I can only tell you your Governor 
went out for a walk with her the moment after Caroline 


THE FAMILY VIEW 313 

had gone away, and fixed it up then. If you don’t be- 
lieve me, ask him.” 

44 Oh, that’s rot. Caroline was married over two 
months ago. If he had fixed it up then we should have 
known about it by this time.” 

46 They agreed to keep it to themselves for a bit. 
You’ll hear soon enough.” 

44 Did my Governor tell you that, or Ella Carruth- 
ers ? ” 

44 There’s no need to play the ass, George. Every- 
body knows it’s settled. Vera mentioned it in the last 
letter she wrote to me. Mrs. Carruthers has gone up 
to London, to be near your Governor. He’s working 
rather hard at present, and can’t be at Abington as 
much as he was.” 

Young George knew that his father was rather tied 
to the Bank, as two of his partners were away. Jimmy’s 
knowledge of this fact impressed him. 44 Is she keen on 
him? ” he asked. 

46 Thinks about nobody else.” 

44 How can you possibly know that? I wish you’d 
chuck pretending to be God Almighty, and just be 
little Jimmy Beckley. Barbara wants to know what 
we think, and what’s really happening.” 

44 Well, she’s come to the right quarter then. I 
haven’t said anything before, because I didn’t know 
you’d tumbled to it. But I do know more about it 
than most. There’s a cousin of ours who is dead keen 
on her, and she won’t look at him.” 

44 Who is he? ” 


314 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ He’s Sir John Ambleside — on my mother’s side of 
the family. He’s in the Scots Guards, and has just 
come back from India, where he’s been A.D.C. to some 
Governor fellow. He hasn’t got much money, so of 
course all our lot are rather keen on it, as she’s sup- 
posed to have a good deal. But, as I say, she won’t 
look at him, because of your Governor.” 

“ Is lie young? ” 

“ About thirty. Good-looking chap too. It’d be 
a good match for both of them. There’d be his title 
against her money. But there it is. He hasn’t got a 
chance. I’m not sorry for it myself, as I’ve an idea 
of nobbling him for Vera. She’s getting on — twenty- 
two next birthday, and it’s time she was settled. I’m 
going to get my people to ask him down at Easter, 
when I shall be at home and can look after things. I 
hope it will all be settled with your Governor by that 
time.” 

“ I don’t think Barbara knows it has gone as far as 
that,” said Young George reflectively. “ She only 
says she thinks it may happen, though Caroline doesn’t. 
She won’t be pleased when I tell her what you’ve told 
me.” 

“ Why not? ” 

“ Oh, well, I suppose she wouldn’t be. Now Caro- 
line and B are married she wants to be Number One 
with the Governor.” 

“ Poor little girl ! ” said Jimmy tenderly. “ I call 
that rather touching, you know, George. We ought 
to try and make it up to her, if it does happen — not let 


THE FAMILY VIEW 315 

her feel herself out of it. I’m sure I’ll do all I can to 
show her that she’s still thought a great deal of.” 

“ I’m sure you will,” said Young George. “ But you 
won’t find she’ll want much of you if she can have the 
Governor.” 

“ That sort of feeling changes when girls grow up,” 
said Jimmy. “ Their Governors don’t stand much of 
a chance when the right chap comes along. I will say 
for your Governor, though, that he knows how to make 
himself pleasant to younger people, men as well as 
girls. There’s nobody of his age I like better to have 
a yarn with. I’m not a bit surprised at a woman like 
Mrs. Carruthers falling in love with him.” 

“ You think it would be a good thing, then? ” 

“ A good thing? Of course it would be a good thing. 
Don’t you think so yourself ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I like her all right. Rather 
rum to have her as a sort of mother, though.” 

“ Nobody thinks anything of that now-a-days. She’d 
be more like a sort of sister. I must say I shouldn’t 
mind having her about the place, if it was me. She’s 
a very fine woman. I spotted her three seasons ago, 
when she first began to hunt again after Carruthers 
died. If I hadn’t felt myself a bit tied up with Kate 
Pemberton then, I think I might have tried to make my- 
self pleasant to her. Well, I always have made myself 
pleasant to her. I think she likes me all right. If 
she marries your Governor we shall be pretty near 
neighbours.” 

“ Well, I hope you won’t try to cut him out, if he 


316 


THE GRAFTONS 


wants to marry her. I don’t quite know what to think 
about it. I shall tell Barbara that it would be a good 
thing.” 

“ Yes, I should, if I were you. And you can tell 
her that I’m all in favour of it, as she has asked what 
I think.” 

“ Thanks, I will,” said Young George. “ That ought 
to settle her mind, if anything can. I say, I haven’t 
told you. B’s going to have a baby.” 

“By Jove!” said Jimmy. “It seems no time since 
B was almost a kid. Makes you feel you’re getting on, 
that sort of thing, eh? Poor little girl! I suppose 
she’s pleased enough about it though, isn’t she? They 
generally are.” 

“ Oh, yes, she’s pleased enough.” 

“ Made up her mind it’s going to be a boy, of 
course.” 

“ Well, she does want it to be a boy. How did 
you know that ? ” 

“ They always want a boy — -so that he shall be like 
hubby, I suppose. B had it pretty bad, you know. 
Nobody could get a word out of her when she was in 
love with Dick. That was a good business all round, 
George. You and I can congratulate ourselves on 
that.” 

“ Why you and I? ” 

“Well, you asked my advice about it, didn’t you? 
I told you what I thought. I suppose we had some- 
thing to do with bringing it off. I wish we’d looked 
after Caroline a bit more. I don’t like to think of a 


THE FAMILY VIEW 


317 


girl like that married to a chap like Bradby. I take 
your word for it that he’s a good chap in himself, 
but Caroline is wasted on him all the same. She might 
have married anybody.” 

“ She didn’t want to marry anybody. She wanted 
to marry him, and it has turned out a great success. 
You’ll say so yourself when you see them together.” 

“ Ah, that’s all very well at present. It hasn’t had 
time to wear off yet. It’s done now and can’t be 
helped; but you see if she doesn’t wish she’d not done 
it in a few years’ time. There’ll be B in her jolly 
country house, with all she can want; and Barbara, 
perhaps — well, I know a pretty decent country house 
that she can have by and bye, if she wants to. And 
Caroline — well, really, you know, it makes you feel 
rather sick. Poor girl! However, I don’t altogether 
blame her for chucking herself away, if she was in 
love. I’d do it myself. But I dare say I should live 
to be sorry for it, if I married beneath me.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AN ENGAGEMENT 

Towards the end of June Caroline went to London to 
stay with Beatrix for a day or two. Beatrix had sum- 
moned her. She depended a good deal on Caroline 
now. She had asked Maurice to come, too, but he 
could not leave his work. 

The morning after she had arrived Beatrix came 
into her room with a letter. Dick had gone off early 
to his ship. “ What does this mean ? Surely it can’t 
be true ! ” she said. 

The letter was from her father. They were to 
have dined with him that evening. He was going off 
to Spain, on banking business, that day. He expected 
to be in Madrid and Barcelona about a week, and on 
his way back he should take Barbara to Switzerland 
for a fortnight or so, and then bring her home. Bea- 
trix was to tell Caroline, and he would write to them 
from abroad. No time for more now, as he was go- 
ing off in such a hurry. Then came a postcript. 
“ Have you heard of Ella’s engagement? Sir John 
Ambleside. He’s a nice fellow, and just the right age 
for her. Write and congratulate her.” 

They stared at one another, utterly surprised. It 
was four months now since Caroline had come home, and 
the idea of a marriage between their father and Ella 
318 


AN ENGAGEMENT 


319 


had been discussed between them. Since then they 
had come to take it quite for granted. Ella had been 
in London ever since, except for two week-end visits 
to Surley, and one to Abington, when there had been 
so large a party of relations and friends that it had 
seemed as if the occasion would be chosen to make an 
announcement. That was a month ago, at Whitsun- 
tide. Neither of them had seen Ella since, and their 
father had only once been down to Abington. 

“ Sir John Ambleside,” said Caroline. 66 That’s the 
Beckleys’ cousin, that Jimmy told Bunting about. 
But—” 

“ Poor old Daddy. He’s running away,” said Bea- 
trix. “ But how beastly of her ! ” 

They tried to adjust their recollections. They had 
taken it for granted. Had they had reason, or had 
had they been mistaken all the time? 

“ Of course, she’s never given a hint,” said Caro- 
line. 

“ Oh, my dear ! You saw how she was with him at 
Whitsuntide.” 

“ Not really very different from what she has al- 
ways been. Perhaps gayer, and rather more at home. 
At least we thought so.” 

“ I’m sure the poor old darling was in love with 
her. He was as happy as a king all that time. I know 
the signs.” 

“ But nothing happened. Surely, if it had been as 
we thought they would have got engaged then, or be- 
fore.” 


320 


THE GRAFTONS 


“ Perhaps he was waiting until he was quite certain, 
and this has happened since — her falling in love with 
that other man. I shan’t congratulate her. I think 
she has behaved very badly. Poor old Daddy! It’s 
frightfully rough luck on him.” 

“ He doesn’t want anything said about it, though. 
I wish he hadn’t gone away alone. I’m glad he’s going 
to take Barbara away when he comes back.” 

“ I wish I knew exactly what had happened.” 

“ Perhaps Aunt Mary will have heard something. 
We shall see her to-day. She will certainly have some- 
thing to say about it.” 

They lunched with Lady Grafton, and she had a 
good deal to say about it. The announcement of the 
engagement had appeared in the 6 Morning Post ’ that 
morning, and had taken her by surprise, though she 
would not admit quite how much it had taken her by 
surprise. 

“ He’s been dancing after her,” she said ; “ but no- 
body thought she would accept him. You know I 
blame you two girls more than anybody.” 

“ Of course you do, darling,” said Beatrix. “ But 
we should like to know why, all the same.” 

“ You’ve stuck up your noses at it. Poor dear 
George, like most men of his age who are in love, is 
sensitive to ridicule. He never could bring himself up 
to the point of proposing because he was afraid that 
he’d look like a fool. That party at the Abbey was 
the greatest possible mistake. I said so at the time.” 

“ Who did you say it to, darling? ” asked Beatrix. 


AN ENGAGEMENT 


321 


44 You told me that it was the very thing to bring it on. 
But I suppose you thought I was in a delicate state 
and must be humoured.” 

44 Yes, it’s all very well to treat it like that,” said 
Lady Grafton. 44 But if it hadn’t been for you it 
would certainly have been brought to a point then. 
They were both ready for it, and Ella Carruthers 
knew perfectly well that she had been asked down there 
to be proposed to. It was you and Caroline who 
stopped it, and I’m exceedingly annoyed with you, 
though I try not to show it.” 

44 You don’t try very hard, dear,” said Caroline. 
44 We expected it, too, and if we weren’t quite ready 
for it at first we had got quite used to it by that time.” 

44 We both showed it, too,” said Beatrix. 44 We 
were as sweet to Ella as only we know how to be ; and 
we took a great deal of pains to show darling Daddy 
that we were pleased with him. He knew that we knew 
all right, and were only waiting.” 

44 Yes, and how did you show it? By hanging round 
him the whole time, and petting him as if you were 
children, instead of — ” 

44 Instead of great girls of twenty-one and twenty- 
two,” suggested Beatrix. 44 That’s how we always 
have treated him, and always shall.” 

44 Two married women,” proceeded Lady Grafton. 

44 And one of them soon to become a mother,” added 
Beatrix. 

44 Nobody was ever allowed to forget that” retorted 
Lady Grafton. 44 It was crammed down Ella’s throat 


322 


THE GRAFTONS 


that she would be a step-grandmamma, and George 
could never move anywhere without you flopping 
about him and calling him 4 Daddy darling.’ There 
wasn’t much 4 Daddy darling ’ when you fell fatu- 
ously in love, and treated him as if he counted for about 
as much as old Jarvis. Then there was Caroline — ” 

44 Oh, it’s my turn now,” said Caroline. 

44 Yes, you were almost as bad. You’ve left his 
house, but you come up every day to see that his sheets 
are properly aired, and send out in the middle of din- 
ner to see whether his hot water bottle is filled.” 

44 Oh, Aunt Mary ! ” 

44 Well, that’s the impression you give everybody. 
You made him look like an elderly man, when if you’d 
let him alone he’d have seemed quite like a young one. 
How would you have liked it yourselves, if you’d been 
in Ella’s place? She’s only a year or two older than 
you. Probably what put her off was that she was 
afraid you’d be calling her 4 Mummy darling ! ’ ” 

44 Oh, it was she that was put off!” said Caroline. 
44 You said at first that it was Dad, because we turned 
up our noses at it.” 

44 I’ve no patience with you,” concluded Lady Graf- 
ton, ignoring this. 

44 No, you don’t seem to have much, darling,” said 
Beatrix sweetly. 44 You’re all wrong though. Caro- 
line and I have been talking it over. We think that she 
was almost ready to marry him then. She behaved to 
us as if she were. We can’t tell you how, but we both 
felt the same about it. She wanted to know how we 


AN ENGAGEMENT 


823 


should take it, and we let her know that we should be 
pleased. We understood each other perfectly, though 
not a word was said directly.” 

“ I wish Vd said a word, directly. It only wanted 
that. One is afraid of interfering, and then one wakes 
up to find everything has gone wrong.” 

“ If only you’d interfered with us all a little more, 
darling, how much happier we should have been,” said 
Beatrix. “ What Caroline and I think is that she 
never could quite make up her mind, and he wouldn’t 
say anything till he saw that she had.” 

“ That’s how it’s supposed to have happened with 
you , isn’t it? It isn’t every man who expects the 
woman he’s in love with to fall down and cuddle his 
boots.” 

“ Don’t be tart, darling. It doesn’t suit you, really, 
though you think it does.” 

“ She found out after all that she wanted somebody 
younger,” said Caroline. 

“ Yes, that’s what you'd think. The truth of it is 
you’ve both been scratching each other’s backs. ‘ Of 
course he’d want what Dick wanted in you, darling * 
and 4 Of course she’d want somebody more like Mau- 
rice, dearie .’ To any sensible woman George is worth 
Dick and Maurice put together. Well, I don’t know 
what has happened. I think she would have had him 
a month ago, if he’d asked her. I’ve hardly seen her 
since. At any rate, it’s all over. George won’t marry 
now. This was the only chance. He wouldn’t marry 
for the sake of marrying, and he wouldn’t go about 


324 


THE GRAFTONS 


looking for somebody to fall in love with. You’ve 
stopped his doing either, till it’s too late. But with 
somebody provided for him, so to speak, who would 
just suit him, and could make him fall in love with her 
into the bargain — it would have been simply ideal. Now 
the poor man has got to fly off and forget all about it. 
Of course he won’t forget all about it for a long 
time. He’ll feel himself old all of a sudden, and know 
that he’ll have to go on getting older for the rest of 
his life. I’m furious about it.” 

Caroline and Beatrix went on to see Lady Hands- 
worth. They agreed on the way there that Aunt Mary 
was really rather sweet about their father, though she 
always tried to be too clever. It was hard lines on the 
poor old darling, and they would have to do their best 
to prevent him feeling he was getting old. It seemed 
that he actually had run away. Uncle James had 
said that somebody from the Bank was to have been 
sent to Spain in a day or two, but that he had sud- 
denly announced his intention of going himself, imme- 
diately. He had said nothing about the engage- 
ment, but he must have known of it when he made 
his decision, as he had written to Beatrix that after- 
noon. 

Lady Handsworth was concerned about the news. 
“ I did hope that she would have married your father,” 
she said. “ But I never felt quite so sure about it as 
Mary, and others, have. I think she could never quite 
make up her mind. Sir John Ambleside has been 
rather determined in his wooing, and I suppose it came 


AN ENGAGEMENT 325 

to a point where George held back, not liking to put 
himself into rivalry with a much younger man.” 

“ I think that’s much the most likely thing to 
have happened,” said Caroline. 44 But he did love 
her, I’m pretty sure, and I’m most awfully sorry for 
him.” 

44 So am I,” said Lady Handsworth. 44 But he will 
get over it, perhaps sooner than one might think. A 
man of his age never lets himself quite go, unless he’s 
absolutely sure. He knows, for one thing, that life isn’t 
all made up of love, and if he has had a blow he can 
look forward to the time when he will have left off 
feeling it. Besides, your father hasn’t lost the love 
that he has always had, and that has been enough for 
him hitherto.” 

This was more consoling than Lady Grafton’s state- 
ment that it was all their fault. Of course he hadn’t 
lost their love; it was stronger than ever, because he 
would depend upon them more than if Ella had gone 
to him to fill their place. 

44 I’m afraid I was rather selfish when I found out 
how much I loved Dick,” Beatrix said, when they had 
left Lady Handsworth. 44 Dick says I was, himself, 
and that if I had made a little more fuss with Daddy 
he wouldn’t have wanted to go off loving somebody 
else. I loved him just the same, but I suppose I didn’t 
think enough that he’d want me to show it. Still, you 
haven’t been like that. You’re more thoughtful than I 
am, dearest. I don’t think it would have made much 
difference. I think Aunt Mary was right there. It 


826 


THE GRAFTONS 


was Ella making up to him that led him on — even if 
she didn’t mean to lead him on so far.” 

“ I shall write to her,” said Caroline. “ He asks us 
to. He won’t want us not to be friends ; and I suppose 
she will still be living at Surley sometimes.” 

Both of them wrote. Ella’s answers were affection- 
ate, but it seemed to them a little shame-faced. She 
said very little to them about the man she was going 
to marry, though it would have been natural for her 
to expatiate upon him to such intimate friends. Her 
only reference to Grafton was in her letter to Caro- 
line, in which she said : “ I told dear Mr. Grafton before 
anybody, and he was so sweet about it, and has prom- 
ised me a very handsome wedding present.” 

Caroline had a letter from Barbara after she went 
home. Barbara was in a heaven of delight. She had 
seen her father on his way through Paris, and was pre- 
paring to go off with him on his way back. 

“ How silly I was to bother myself and all of you 
about Ella,” she wrote. “ Dad told me she was going 
to be married to that little ass Jimmy’s cousin. Dad 
was quite pleased about it. He was awfully sweet to 
me, and says he is longing to have me at home to look 
after him. It will be spiffing fun going to Switzerland 
together. The darling old thing wants a holiday. He 
says he’s been working rather hard at the Bank, and 
he certainly looks rather run down. I shall take the 
utmost possible care of him. He bought me a hat in 
the Rue de la Paix. Ser-wish ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 
BARBARA 


Barbara and her father left Paris one evening and ar- 
rived at Montreux the next morning. In the afternoon 
they climbed up by the electric train to Chateau d’Oex, 
where they had spent a happy fortnight five winters 
before, skating and ski-ing and lugeing. Barbara had 
been given the choice of a place to go to, and had 
chosen this. She wanted to see the mountain pastures, 
which they had known only under snow, in their early 
summer dress. Grafton did not want to travel about. 
They were to stay wherever they went to, and perhaps 
visit a few other places on their homeward way. 

The next day Barbara wrote to Caroline. 

“ Here we are, in the same old rooms, with the same 
jolly old view, but you’ve no idea of the difference. 
There is still snow on the Gummfluh and the Riibli, but 
only in the clefts and hollows, and all the rest is the 
most lovely pinks and purples and yellows and heavenly 
green. All the fields are simply full of flowers, growing 
with the hay. They say that a month ago they were 
white with narcissus, but they couldn’t have been more 
beautiful than they are now, with all their colours. 
Dad and I had a walk this morning across the valley 
to where we used to ski. It was like walking through a 
garden, and the river looks topping, all free of ice, and 


328 


THE GRAFTONS 


flowing between the rocks and firs. The cows are feed- 
ing half-way up the Cray, and those that are still 
down here all have great cow-bells. You hear them 
booming and tinkling all the time. We are going to 
have a lot of walks, and go up to the chalets where they 
make the cheeses. The rink is now a tennis court, but 
the people who play there don’t look very interesting 
and Dad hasn’t brought any things so I don’t think we 
shall launch ourselves among them. There aren’t many 
people in the hotel yet — very different from what it 
was when we were here. But we like it, and are going 
to be thoroughly lazy, and loll about with books, except 
when we go for walks. 

“ Now I’ve got Dad all to myself, of course I can 
see. I was a fool to write what I did from Paris. The 
poor old darling had made up his mind to keep it all to 
himself, and had screwed himself to be extra merry and 
bright with me, so that I shouldn’t twig anything. 
He did take me in, but I only saw him for a few hours. 
Of course he can’t really hide it, though he thinks he’s 
doing it beautifully, poor lamb ! I do believe I’m the 
proper person to be with him, Cara dear. Perhaps you 
would do it better, but you can’t be here, so I hope 
you’ll be glad that I am, and not think that I only want 
to enjoy myself, though I am doing that, and it is 
lovely to be here, and with Dad. It’s rather pathetic 
how he likes to be always with me, and I know he is 
glad that he brought me here. When we were reading 
on the balcony this afternoon, I could see he wasn’t 
reading much, but every now and then he looked at me, 


BARBARA 


329 


and once he said how jolly it was that we were here, 
and were going home together. So I’m a sort of com- 
fort to him, which I’m frightfully glad of, and is just 
what I want to be. I’m not sure I shan’t try to get 
him to say something later on. After all, everybody 
knows. I hate her for treating him like that, though of 
course I’m glad in a way. It shows what she would 
have been like. She must have made him think that 
she loved him, and of course he is bowled over. I heard 
him walking up and down the balcony last night. When 
he came into my room this morning he said that he had 
got up to see the sun rise, but it was quite dark when 
I heard him. After he had had his petit dejeuner he 
went back to bed and slept till ten nearly, which is a 
good thing. 

“ But you mustn’t think he is moping. It isn’t like 
that at all. He is very cheerful and amusing generally, 
and we are having a lovely time. I’ve only told you 
what I have seen behind it. I’m sure he just wants to 
forget all about it, and I’m going to help him the very 
best way I can. I do love him. I shan’t marry at all, 
but shall live at home and look after him. Of course 
I don’t blame you for marrying, darling, as you had 
to. But I’ve thought it over and I don’t care about 
it for myself.” 

Barbara also wrote to Bunting — a not too indulgent 
description of the people staying in the hotel, with 
references to the changed aspect of the country, and 
to some places that he knew. 

46 Dad is enjoying his holiday,” she wrote, “ and 


330 


THE GRAFTONS 


looks better already. He was rather run down, but 
he is picking up in this jolly air, and getting very ac- 
tive. He makes me laugh all the time, he is so pleased 
with everything. I was rather a fool to write to you 
what I did from Paris. I suppose I was bored at not 
being at home, and got ideas into my head. But when 
you told me what that little ass Jimmy said, I didirt 
worry any more. I knew that I was safe in believing 
the opposite. Dad is very pleased at Ella’s engage- 
ment to Sir John Ambleside, as of course he is verjr 
fond of her, as she has been almost like one of us to 
him, and was nice to him when all of us were away. 
She has been in love with Sir John for months, but 
couldn’t quite make up her mind to marry him when 
she found out he was Jimmy’s cousin. However, that 
seems to be his only drawback, and when Jimmy grows 
up he may improve. There’s always hope.” 

Grafton’s letters were short, but fairly frequent. 
There was no further mention of Ella in them, but 
there was a good deal about Barbara. 

“ Barbara is a delightful companion,’'’ he wrote, 
some days after they had gone to Chateau d’Oex. 
“ I’ve never had her to myself so much before. We 
never bore one another, and we talk about all things 
under the sun. She’s a dear child, and has developed 
extraordinarily. There’s a lot in that investigating 
mind of hers, and it’s all beginning to come out. It 
was a good thing to send her to Paris, though I’m glad 
enough that the time is over, and I shall have her at 
home now. She says she is going to stay with me for 


BARBARA 


331 


years and years. But I doubt if I shall keep the sort 
of young woman she’s growing into for more than two 
or three at the outside. However, they will be happy 
ones, and there’s no reason why the happiness should 
end when she does get married, bless her ! ” 

One morning they set out very early to walk to the 
coombe of the Vanil Noir. Grafton carried a rucksack 
with their lunch, and they walked slowly, as they had 
learnt to do with a long day’s expedition before them. 
The air was deliciously fresh and fragrant, and the 
sun had not yet become hot. 

They crossed pasture after pasture deep in flowers, 
and as they slowly mounted, the great panorama shifted 
and changed; distant snowpeaks lifted themselves into 
view, and became new mountain ranges ; the windings 
of their own valley were displayed, and little towns and 
villages on its green floor looked like scattered children’s 
buildings. 

They came to the wide solemn coombe, and went up 
it to the foot of the mountain. The snow lingered 
here, sometimes in deep drifts, among the rocks, but 
almost every foot of ground that had shaken off its 
winter covering was jewelled with Alpine flowers. It 
was another world they had come to, above the trees and 
the coarser growths, with a sense of freedom and space 
and bigness about it that was lacking in the lower 
valleys. The silence was broken only by the tinkle 
of the rivulets and the occasional shrill chatter of a 
marmotte , which they could sometimes descry sitting 
alert on a distant rock, 


332 


THE GRAFTONS 


They ate their lunch of sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, 
chocolate, Gruyere cheese, and oranges, with a bottle 
of Valais wine, and agreed that they had never enjoyed 
a lunch more. Then they sat with their backs against 
a rock, while Grafton smoked, and a deep peace and 
contentment settled dowm upon them. 

“ Isn’t it perfect? ” said Barbara, after a time. 44 I 
feel that this is the best that life has to offer, Dad. 
I wonder how much of that feeling is due to being 
rested and fed, after having been rather tired and 
rather hungry.” 

44 I should think about half,” he said. 

44 That only leaves half for the scenery, and the 
lovely air and the sunshine, and not being in Paris, and 
being with you, and looking forward to going home as 
the next thing. It isn’t enough.” 

44 And it leaves nothing at all for being young, and 
having nothing on your mind; nothing at all to worry 
yourself about. That’s the great advantage of being 
young, which you never realise till you’re no longer 
young. When something good comes along, like this, 
you can enjoy it to the full.” 

44 You’ve got nothing to worry you now, have you, 
Dad?” she asked, after a pause. 

44 No, darling,” he said, after another. 44 The way 
is pretty clear ahead now. Lots of jolly things to be 
done and some quite nice people to take an interest 
in. You and I will be able to do some of the nice 
things together, won’t we? ” 

44 It will be lovely,” she said. 44 We’re doing one of 


BARBARA 333' 

the nice things now. It was rather a good move, our 
coming here together, wasn’t it, Dad?” 

44 Yes, a first-class move. Do you ever read Words- 
worth, Barbara?” 

44 Not more than I’m obliged, darling. I’ve read 
about the tiresome child who couldn’t count, and he 
nagged at her.” 

44 1 don’t mean that sort of Wordsworth. Mother 
loved him. She read me things when we were on our 
honeymoon, going to beautiful places together.” 

44 Then I should like to read him. What sort of 
things ? ” 

44 He makes you see how beautiful Nature is : I can’t 
explain it exactly, but if you take it right it has a sort 
of soothing uplifting influence on you.” 

44 Yes, I’ve felt that sometimes, especially since we 
went to live at Abington. But — perhaps it’s because 
I’m too young — I don’t think you can enjoy it so 
much alone.” 

He looked at her in some surprise. 44 Have you 
found that out already? ” he said. 44 I found it out 
after Mother died. I was frightfully unhappy. I 
went away by myself to some of the places we’d been 
to together. But it made me unhappier still. In fact, 
it spoilt the memory of those places for me till I went 
there again years afterwards, with Cara and B. Then 
I got back my first impression of them.” 

She snuggled up to him. 44 Take me to them, some- 
time, Daddy,” she said. 

44 Yes, I will, darling. You were too young then. 


334 


THE GRAFTONS 


I think perhaps we might go this autumn. It was in 
September that she and I were married. How happy 
we were ! She had planned out where we were to go to. 
Mostly out-of-the-way beautiful places. I suppose I 
had been too busy amusing myself, with other people, 
to want to go to places simply because they were beau- 
tiful, before. But she taught me to love the beauty of 
Nature, though for a time after she died it did nothing 
for me.” 

44 Perhaps it doesn’t when you’re unhappy and alone. 
Do you think Caroline loves it in the same way as 
Mother did, Daddy?” 

He thought for a moment. 44 She gets it from her, 
I suppose,” he said. 44 Perhaps she has it even more 
strongly. She’s going to make it the chief thing in her 
life, you know, she and Maurice together. And one 
doesn’t feel that she is wrong in doing it.” 

44 Of course, she has tried the other,” she said, after 
a pause. 

He smiled at her. 44 Are you thinking that it 
wouldn’t be enough for you? ” he asked. 44 1 don’t 
think it would, darling; it wouldn’t have been enough 
for Mother and me — a refreshment — perhaps the best 
sort of refreshment, while we were young, and some- 
thing to come to more and more if we had grown old 
together. At any rate, you’ll have your taste of pleas- 
ure, as Cara and B had it, and you’ll be right to enjoy 
it, as they did. It did neither of them any harm and 
it won’t do you any harm.” 

44 Why should it do anybody harm, Dad?” 


BARBARA 


335 


“ Oh, well — if pleasure were put in the first place, 
for the whole of a lifetime ! That’s what you see all 
round you, among people of our sort. It would have 
been more of a danger for B than for Caroline. But B 
is all right now. She’ll make a good loving wife and 
mother. She’ll have a good time, but she won’t put 
having a good time first.” 

44 I should like you to expound that for me a little, 
Daddy; for my good, you know.” 

44 Well, I don’t know that I’m the best person to ex- 
pound it to you, except perhaps that I’ve done it a 
bit too much myself. You see when you have enough 
money to do pretty well what you like, you do rather 
get into the way of gratifying yourself at every turn 
— or trying to. Even the good things in life — love 
is the best of them all — you’re apt to think more of 
yourself than of other people — even of the very people 
you love.” 

She thought this might be the beginning of a con- 
fidence, and listened eagerly for more. 

44 I’m not sure that the best thing for a man isn’t 
to have something stiff to do,” he went on. 44 1 never 
have had. I’ve been too lucky.” 

44 You’ve made all of us happy, darling.” 

44 Well, that’s something, isn’t it, if I have? You’ve 
all made me happy too. Best not to be always looking 
out for happiness for yourself — much less pleasure. 
Some clever fellow said once that happiness only came 
when you weren’t looking for it.” 

44 1 think the best thing is to do what you can to 


836 


THE GRAFTONS 


make other people happy. I don’t mean in a priggish 
sort of way — setting yourself out to do it — but be- 
cause you love them and it comes natural to you to 
want to.” 

44 1 believe you’ve hit upon the whole duty of women, 
darling. It’s what they are here for. A selfish woman 
always seems more off the lines than a selfish man. 
But selfishness is ugly everywhere. You can’t always 
see it in yourself, but when you do you had better get 
rid of it as quickly as possible.” 

44 You’re not selfish.” 

44 Most men are. I don’t think I’m much different 
from other fellows. But I like you to think I am.” 

44 You know, Daddy, I’ve been thinking lately that 
it’s rather like what you said just now — you mustn’t 
grab at things, and it may not be altogether good for 
you to be able to get everything you want. By far 
the nicest of the girls you sent me to Paris to consort 
with is Nora O’Brien, whom I told you about. Her 
people are very hard up, and one of her aunts is 
educating her. The others are all rich — at least their 
people are — and the richest are the horridest, except 
Katie Brown, whose father is a millionaire; and she 
laughs at it, and would be just as happy if he were 
poor. I think we are all so nice because we really love 
each other, and that’s the best of all the things we 
have at home; though it’s very jolly having a beautiful 
house and lots of friends too.” 

44 Yes, it’s love that makes the world go round, 
wherever you find it. It gives you a reason for en- 


BARBARA 


337 


joying yourself too. At least it does when you’ve a 
young woman of nearly eighteen, soon to be launched 
on the world. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself, darling, 
when it comes to the time for you to go out and 
about.” 

44 I shall like best being at home with you, Daddy.” 

44 Well, you’ll be at home a lot too, I hope. But 
you must have your fling, and see what the world is 
like all round.” 

44 I think I shall like it, you know. Caroline did, 
though she got tired of it afterwards.” 

44 I don’t think it was so much that she got tired of 
it as that she found something else she liked better to 
put in its place. Oh, I’m happy about Caroline and B 
both. And about you too, darling. And about Bunt- 
ing, who is growing into a very good sort of man. In 
fact I’ve nothing to grouse about at all, except that I 
can’t have the last five and twenty years all over again. 
Now I think it’s time to be getting down to our happy 
valley.” 


THE EXD 


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